THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

BY 

JOHN  CARL  PARISH 


I  wm  i  ■■ 


LA    SALLE    TOOK    POSSESSION    IN    THE    NAME    OF    THE    KING 
OF    FRANCE    (P-  »«7) 


Crue  Caleg  of  t^e  ©treat  ©alle? 

EDITED   BY    BENJAMIN   F.    SHAMBAUGH 


The 
Man  with  the  Iron  Hand 

BY 

JOHN  CARL  PARISH 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 
(Cbe  ftitoetfibe  tyxzi*  Cambtibrjc  . 


COPYRIGHT,    I913,   BY  HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 

Published  October  IQ13 


FIFTH  IMPRESSION,  MAY,  1922 


Let  us  picture  in  imagination  the  history 
of  the  Great  Valley  of  the  Mississippi  as  a 
splendid  drama  enacted  upon  a  giant  stage 
which  reaches  from  the  Alleghanies  to 
the  Rockies  and  from  the  Great  Lakes 
to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  through  which 
the  Father  of  Waters  sweeps  majestically. 
Let  us  people  this  stage  with  real  men  and 
women — picturesque  red  men  and  no  less 
interesting  white  men,  Indians,  Spaniards, 
Frenchmen,  Englishmen,  explorers,  warri- 
ors, priests,  voyageurs,  coureurs  de  bois, 
fur  traders,  and  settlers.  Let  the  scenes  be 
set  about  the  lakes,  along  the  rivers,  among 
the  hills,  on  the  plains,  and  in  the  forests. 
Then,  viewing  this  pageant  of  the  past,  let 
us  write  the  true  tales  of  the  Great  Valley 
as  we  write  romance  —  with  life,  action, 
and  color  — that  the  history  of  our  Great 
Valley  may  live. 

Benjamin  F.  Shambaugh 


553401 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 


The  purpose  of  this  book  is  to  present  in  read- 
able narrative  form,  yet  with  strict  accuracy, 
some  of  the  events  which  attended  the  coming 
of  the  French  explorers  into  the  Mississippi 
Valley,  and  to  deal  with  these  events  as  much 
as  possible  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Indians 
whose  country  the  white  men  entered.  In  other 
words,  an  effort  has  been  made  to  place  the 
reader  in  the  position  and  environment  of  the 
native  inhabitants  in  order  that  he  may  witness 
the  coming  of  the  whites  through  the  eyes  and 
minds  of  the  Indians  instead  of  viewing  from 
the  outside  the  exploration,  by  men  of  his  own 
kind,  of  an  unknown  land  peopled  by  a  strange 
and  vaguely  understood  race. 

For  the  sake  of  preserving  the  standpoint  of 
the  Great  Valley,  the  story  of  explorations  is 
centered  about  Henry  de  Tonty  —  the  "Man 
with  the  Iron  Hand"  —  who,  unlike  his  leader 
La  Salle,  remained  in  the  valley  of  the  Missis- 
sippi and  in  close  relations  with  its  inhabitants 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century. 

vii 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

This  book  is  not  in  any  sense  fiction.  It  has 
been  written  directly  from  the  original  sources 
and  from  the  best  information  available  upon 
the  life  of  the  Indian  at  the  time  of  the  arrival 
of  the  whites.  The  sources  consist  mainly  of  the 
letters  and  relations  of  Father  Marquette  and 
other  Jesuits,  of  Joliet  and  La  Salle  and  Tonty, 
and  the  writings  of  the  various  friars,  priests, 
and  soldiers  who  accompanied  them.  A  few 
fragments  are  accessible  in  manuscript  form 
only;  but  the  most  important  material  has 
been  compiled,  edited,  and  published  by  Pierre 
Margry,  John  Gilmary  Shea,  B.  F.  French, 
Reuben  Gold  Thwaites,  and  others. 

Where  conversations  are  given  they  have 
been  taken  from  the  reports  of  those  who  held 
them  or  heard  them.  Usually  they  have  been 
translated  literally  from  the  French  records. 
Sometimes  the  direct  discourse  has  been  turned 
into  indirect,  or  abridged,  and  in  a  few  cases 
the  indirect  has  been  turned  into  the  direct 
form. 

The  writings  of  the  early  explorers  and  priests 
abound  in  descriptive  details  of  a  climatic,  phys- 
ical, or  personal  nature;  and  this  information, 
wherever  illuminative,  has  been  drawn  upon  to 

viii 


AUTHOR'S  PREFACE 

reproduce  as  vividly  and  as  truly  as  possible  the 
conditions  surrounding  the  events  described. 

There  is  one  secondary  writer  who  will  always 
deserve  the  gratitude  of  the  student  of  subjects 
connected  with  the  French  and  Indians  in  Can- 
ada and  the  Mississippi  Valley,  and  acknowl- 
edgments are  here  made  to  Francis  Parkman, 
not  as  a  source  of  information  —  although  his 
conclusions,  drawn  from  an  exhaustive  study 
of  original  documents,  are  invaluable — but  as 
a  pioneer  and  unrivaled  master  in  the  field  and 
a  source  of  unfailing  inspiration. 

There  are  many  persons  who  have  aided  the 
work  in  various  ways,  and  their  assistance  has 
been  duly  appreciated;  but  space  will  permit 
the  mention  of  only  two  of  them.  The  helpful 
criticism  and  suggestions  of  my  wife  through- 
out the  entire  preparation  of  the  volume  have 
materially  benefited  the  text;  and  the  constant 
advice  and  encouragement  of  the  editor  of  the 
series,  Dr.  Benjamin  F.  Shambaugh,  and  his 
careful  editorial  revision  of  the  manuscript  have 
added  much  to  the  value  of  the  book. 

John  Carl  Parish. 

Denver,  Colorado. 


CONTENTS 


I.  The  Captive         . 
IIT^The  Coming  of  the  Strangers 

III.  Down  the  Great  River 

IV.  The  Captive  Released    . 
V.  The  Black  Gown 

VI.  ^' The  Iroquois  are  Coming" 
VII.  The  Secret  Council 
VIII.  The  Fort  Called  Crevecoeur 
IX.  The  White  Invasion   "    . 
X.  The  Mysterious  Hand    . 
XI.   "We  are  all  Savages" 
XII.  The  Death  of  Chassagoac   • 

XIII.  The  Iroquois  Come  . 

XIV.  The  Scattering  of  the  Tribes 
XV.  A  Sioux  War  Party 

XVI.  The  Land  of  the  Sioux 
XVII.  A  Buffalo  Hunt 
XVIII.  The  Miamis  Repent  . 
XIX.  A  Chief  Come  to  Life    • 
XX.   Strange  Rites      .... 
XXI.  The  Lower  Mississippi  .      . 
XI 


i 

s 
19 

33 
40 
48 

59 
70 

79 
87 
92 

99 
104 
114 
127 

134 
142 
150 
161 
169 
180 


CONTENTS 

XXII.  The  Gathering  of  the  Tribes      .  192 

XXIII.  Fort  St.  Louis 204 

XXIV.  The  Lost  Chief 213 

XXV.  News  from  La  Salle   ....  22c 

f    XXVI.  An  Ill-Starred  Voyage     .  .  .  228 

XXVII.  Hunting  the  Mississippi    .  .  .  237 

XXVIII.  From  the  Gulf  to  the  Illinois  .  248 

XXIX.  When  he  Left  Them   .      .  •  .256 

XXX.  White  and  Red  Savages    .  .  .  264 

XXXI.  Tonty's  Heroic  Venture  •  .  273 

VXXXII^  The  Pitiful  Remnant        .  .  .281 


The  frontispiece  is  from  a  painting  by  Frank  T.  Merrill 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 


c 

The 
Man  with  the  Iron  Hand 

i 

THE  CAPTIVE 

A  sudden,  far-off  cry  broke  the  stillness  that 
had  brooded  over  the  long,  low  Indian  lodges 
on  the  hill.  Instantly  the  whole  village  awoke 
to  intense  excitement.  Women  dropped  their 
work  by  the  fireside;  old  men  put  away  their 
long-stemmed  pipes  and  leaped  like  young 
braves  to  the  doors  of  the  lodges;  while  in 
the  fields  young  girls  stood  straight  to  listen. 
Again  came  the  cry,  but  nearer  now  and  as  of 
many  voices.  From  every  lodge  by  the  side 
of  the  river  and  on  the  hill  came  pouring  the 
red-skinned  villagers,  their  straight,  black  hair 
glistening  in  the  sunlight.  From  the  fields  of 
corn  and  squashes  and  out  from  among  the 
bean-vines  came  lithe  maidens  and  sturdy 
Indian  women;  and  from  their  play  by  the 
riverside  naked  children  tumbled  breathlessly 
into  the  open  space  before  the  lodges. 

I 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

In  the  distance,  with  wild,  triumphant  cries, 
came  the  war  party  for  which  the  women  and 
old  men  of  the  village  had  waited  so  long.  Now 
they  could  see  the  gay  feathers  that  decorated 
the  heads  and  the  red  paint  that  smeared  the 
bodies  of  the  returning  braves.  Now  they  caught 
sight  of  scalp-locks  waved  in  the  air;  and  in 
the  midst  of  the  throng  of  warriors  they  saw 
the  figure  of  a  strange  Indian  lad  plodding 
along  between  two  tall  braves.  "Scalps  and  a 
captive"  went  up  the  cry  from  the  waiting  vil- 
lagers, and  out  into  the  open  with  shouts  of 
welcome  they  poured  to  meet  the  home-coming 
band. 

It  was  an  occasion  long  to  be  remembered. 
The  women  of  the  tribe  gathered  in  the  open, 
and  with  weird  songs  and  wild  music,  with  arms 
flung  high  and  feet  shuffling  and  leaping,  and 
with  bodies  twisting  and  bending,  danced  the 
scalp  dance. 

The  captive  was  only  a  boy,  who  did  not 
speak  the  language  of  the  Illinois  into  whose 
triumphant  hands  he  had  fallen.  He  was  a 
stranger  in  the  midst  of  enemies.  Sometimes,  as 
he  well  knew,  in  the  camps  of  the  Peoria  tribe, 
when  darkness  had  fallen  after  a  day  of  battle, 

2 


THE   CAPTIVE 

captives  were  burned  alive.  Such  a  scene  his 
terrified  mind  now  pictured.  He  imagined  him- 
self bound  at  the  foot  of  a  stake  in  the  midst  of 
a  clearing.  He  could  see  flames  reach  out  hun- 
grily and  consume  the  dried  sticks  and  under- 
brush. Each  second  they  mounted  higher, 
throwing  a  circle  of  light  on  a  close-packed  crowd 
of  heartless  and  rejoicing  Indians,  who  watched 
the  growing  flames  leap  up  and  lick  at  the  limbs 
of  the  helpless  captive  tied  to  the  stake. 

Perhaps,  if  he  had  been  an  Iroquois,  burning 
would  have  been  the  young  boy's  fate.  But  on 
this  particular  occasion  the  Iowa  River,  which 
ran  past  the  Peoria  village,  witnessed  no  such 
barbaric  torturings,  for  the  wife  of  the  chief 
claimed  the  captive  and  took  him  to  her  own 
lodge,  where  in  due  time  and  witrkproper  cere- 
mony he  was  adopted  as  a  member  of  thechief 's 
family.  ^N 

It  was  in  some  such  train  of  events  that  this 
captive  Indian  boy  came,  with  strange  words 
upon  his  lips  and  fear  in  his  heart,  to  live  with 
the  Peoria  tribe  of  Illinois  Indians.  He  had 
many  forebodings,  but  with  all  his  Indian  imag- 
ination he  could  not  foresee  that  from  this  vil- 
lage of  his  adoption  he  would  set  out  upon  a 

3 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

series  of  adventures  such  as  no  boy  or  man  of 
his  tribe  had  yet  experienced  —  that  he  would 
pass  through  countries  and  among  people  like 
none  he  had  ever  known  and  come  upon  dangers 
that  would  make  his  capture  in  battle  seem  as 
tame  as  a  day's  fishing. 


II 

THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

It  was  many  days  later,  and  the  quiet  and 
beauty  of  June  had  come  upon  the  Mississippi 
Valley.  From  in  front  of  the  Peoria  lodges  on 
the  banks  of  the  Iowa  River,  a  slender  trail 
slipped  off  across  the  prairies  through  two 
leagues  of  sunshine  over  a  country  fair  to  see, 
and  came  at  length  to  the  west  bank  of  the 
Mississippi.  Eut  on  this  summer  day  no  Indian 
traveled  the  pathway  that  led  from  the  village. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  streets  of  the  Indian 
town,  and  no  movement  to  be  seen  save  the  slow 
rising  of  smoke  from  the  tops  of  the  three  hun- 
dred lodges  which  dotted  the  hill  like  so  many 
long  arbors,  with  rounded  roofs  made  water- 
proof by  layers  of  plaited  rush  mats.  But  from 
the  lodges  came  the  murmur  of  voices,  for  in- 
side the  windowless  walls  the  Indians  of  the 
Peoria  tribe  were  gathered. 

Down  the  center  line  within  each  lodge  four 
or  five  fires  were  burning,  and  beside  each  fire 
two  families  made  their  home.   Indian  women 

5 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

squatted  by  the  smouldering  embers,  or  pounded 
corn  into  meal  in  stone  bowls;  while  here  and 
there  on  rush  mats  or  on  the  dirt  floor  sat  the 
men  with  tattooed  and  sinewy  bodies,  smoking 
long-stemmed  pipes  or  mending  bows.  Against 
the  walls  brown  papooses,  on  end  in  their  cases, 
blinked  at  the  light  from  doorway  and  fires  or 
gazed  stolidly  and  silently  at  nothing.  Life  among 
the  lodges,  except  in  time  of  war,  was  unevent- 
ful. Nor  was  there  on  this  day  in  late  June  any 
reason  to  look  for  events  other  than  those  which 
had  fallen  upon  the  tribe  for  generations. 

Then  of  a  sudden  the  village  was  startled  by  a 
shout.  It  was  not  that  peculiar  cry  of  war  which 
sometimes  echoed  along  the  valley,  nor  yet  the 
cry  of  returning  hunters  or  warriors.  It  had  an 
odd  new  note  in  it  that  halted  the  busy  work  of 
the  Indian  women  and  woke  to  activity  the 
dreaming  braves.  Pipes  were  laid  aside,  stones 
with  which  the  squaws  were  grinding  corn  fell 
quiet  into  the  bowls,  and  papooses  were  forgot- 
ten as  the  villagers  swarmed  out  of  the  lodges 
into  the  sunlight. 

Strange  was  the  sight  which  met  their  curious 
gaze.  There  in  the  pathway  that  came  over 
from  the  Mississippi  were  two  men.  The  Peorias 

6 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

had  seen  no  Indians  like  these.  Although  it 
was  the  month  of  June  the  strangers  were  cov- 
ered from  head  to  foot  with  garments  of  cloth. 
One,  a  man  yet  in  his  twenties,  was  dressed  in 
a  coat  and  heavy  breeches ;  the  other,  a  quiet- 
faced  man  somewhat  older  than  his  companion, 
wore  a  long  black  robe,  gathered  about  his  waist 
by  a  cord  and  reaching  to  his  feet.  Swung  from 
this  cord  was  a  string  of  large  beads  from  which 
hung  a  cross. 

Unannounced  these  strange  beings  had  ap- 
peared in  the  pathway  before  the  village  almost 
as  if  dropped  by  some  spirit  from  the  sky.  No 
paint  was  on  their  pale  faces,  no  feathers  in 
their  hair.  They  carried  no  weapons  and  dis- 
played neither  the  pipe  of  war  with  its  red  paint 
and  feathers  nor  the  pipe  of  peace  that  told  of 
the  coming  of  friends.  Yet  there  were  those 
among  the  Indian  villagers  who  doubtless  knew 
whence  the  strangers  came.  Perhaps  among 
them  were  some  of  the  Illinois  warriors  who, 
six  years  before,  had  made  a  visit  to  a  group  of 
cabins  many  leagues  to  the  north,  on  the  shore 
of  Lake  Superior,  and  who  had  there  seen  the 
energetic  fur  traders,  with  their  blanket  coats 
and  stout  breeches,  and  the  Jesuit  priests  who, 

7 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

dressed  like  this  man  in  black  gown  and  hood, 
had  pushed  their  way  into  the  villages  all  about 
the  Great  Lakes.  Perhaps  in  the  journeys  which 
the  Peorias  sometimes  made  to  the  village  of 
their  Kaskaskia  brothers  over  on  the  Illinois 
River,  they  had  heard  of  the  men  with  white 
faces  who  lived  near  Green  Bay  and  at  the 
Straits  of  Mackinac. 

The  word  quickly  passed  among  the  men  of 
the  Peoria  village  that  these  two  strangers  were 
of  the  great  French  nation  from  over  the  sea. 
Moreover,  since  it  was  customary  for  the 
Indian  to  be  hospitable  to  peaceable  visitors, 
these  two  men  who  had  appeared  so  unexpect- 
edly in  the  pathway  must  be  fitly  welcomed. 
Four  Indians  —  old  men  with  authority  in  the 
tribe  —  stepped  out  from  the  crowd  and  ad- 
vanced down  the  path.  They  walked  slowly, 
two  of  them  holding  above  their  heads  in  the 
glowing  sunlight  the  calumets  or  pipes  of  peace 
decorated  with  feathers  and  finely  ornamented. 
Without  a  word  they  drew  near  the  strangers, 
holding  their  pipes  to  the  sky  as  if  offering 
them  to  the  sun  to  smoke.  Finally  they  stopped 
and  gazed  attentively,  yet  courteously,  upon 
the  white  men. 

8 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

Then  spoke  up  the  man  in  the  black  gown, 
"Who  are  you?"  he  said  in  a  broken  Algon- 
quian  tongue. 

"We  are  Illinois,"  the  old  men  answered. 
There  was  pride  in  their  tones,  for  the  name 
Illinois  means  "the  men"  —  as  if  no  other 
Indians  were  so  worthy  to  be  called  men.  Then 
they  gave  the  white  men  the  pipes  of  peace  to 
smoke  and  invited  them  to  visit  the  lodges. 

Together  the  Indians  and  their  guests  walked 
up  the  path  to  the  village.  At  the  door  of  one 
of  the  lodges  was  an  old  man  who  stood  naked 
and  erect,  with  *hands  extended  to  the  sun. 
Toward  this  lodge  the  strangers  made  their 
way;  and  as  they  drew  near,  the  old  man 
spoke:  — 

"How  beautiful  is  the  sun,  O  Frenchmen, 
when  thou  comest  to  visit  us !  All  our  village 
awaits  thee  and  thou  shalt  enter  all  our  lodges 
in  peace." 

Within  the  lodge  were  many  of  the  tribe,  and 
in  their  minds  was  great  wonder  as  they  looked 
upon  the  curious  men  from  the  East.  The  elders 
of  the  tribe  again  gave  to  the  visitors  the  pipe 
of  peace;  and  when  they  had  smoked,  the  In- 
dians also  drew  upon  the  calumet,  thus  binding 

9 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

upon  themselves  peace  and  good  will  to  their 
strange  guests. 

A  little  way  off  was  a  group  of  lodges  where 
lived  the  greatest  chief  of  the  tribe.  When  he 
heard  of  the  coming  of  the  white  men,  he  sent  to 
invite  them  to  his  lodge.  The  strangers  accepted, 
and  a  great  retinue  attended  them  as  they 
passed  through  the  village.  Eager  to  see  such 
unusual  visitors,  the  Indians  followed  them  in 
throngs.  Some  lay  in  the  grass  and^watched 
them  as  they  passed  by;  others  ran  ahead,  and 
then  walked  back  to  meet  them.  Yet  without 
noise  and  with  great  courtesy  'they  looked  upon 
the  two  white  men.  Finally  they  all  came  to 
the  lodge  of  the  Peoria  chief. 

The  chief  stood  in  his  doorway,  while  on  either 
side  of  him  stood  an  old  man.  Naked  were  the 
three,  and  up  toward  the  sun  they  held  the 
long-stemmed  calumet.  With  a  few  dignified 
words  the  chief  drew  the  white  men  into  his 
lodge,  where  again  they  smoked  together  in 
friendship.  Then  silence  fell  upon  those  within 
the  lodge,  for  the  time  had  come  when  the 
strangers  should  tell  of  their  mission.  Impas- 
sive but  full  of  expectancy,  the  Indians  waited. 
It  was  the  man  in  the  black  gown  who  spoke; 

10 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

and  after  the  manner  of  the  Indians  he  gave 
them  four  presents  and  with  each  present  he 
gave  them  a  message. 

Silently  the  red  men  listened  as  with  his  first 
present  he  told  them  of  the  object  of  his  com- 
ing. He  was  Jacques  Marquette,  a  priest  of  the 
Order  of  Jesuits,  and  his  companion  was  Louis 
Joliet,  a  fur  trader  and  explorer  of  the  great 
French  nation.  They  had  come  journeying 
peaceably  to  visit  the  tribes  that  dwelt  upon 
the  Mississippi,  and  they  were  eager  to  go  as 
far  as  the  sea  into  which  the  Great  River 
flowed. 

Again  he  gave  them  a  present  and  told  them 
of  the  God  of  the  white  men,  who  had  created 
the  Indian  as  well,  and  who  had  sent  the  black- 
robed  priests  into  the  far  corners  of  the  earth 
to  tell  the  Indians  of  his  glory.  Then  a  third 
present  he  gave  to  the  Peorias  and  told  them  of 
the  great  chief  of  the  French  who  sent  word 
that  he  had  conquered  the  fierce  Iroquois  and 
made  peace  everywhere.  With  the  fourth  and 
last  present  he  begged  the  Peorias  to  tell  him  of 
the  Indian  nations  to  the  south  along  the  wind- 
ings of  the  great  river  and  beside  the  sea  into 
which  it  flowed. 

II 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

When  the  priest  ceased  speaking,  the  chief 
of  the  Peorias  rose.  Beside  him  stood  an  Indian 
boy  of  about  ten  years.  He  was  not  a  Peoria, 
but  the  captive  who  had  been  taken  in  battle 
and  adopted  into  the  chiefs  family.  Placing  his 
hand  on  the  boy's  head,  the  chief  spoke  these 
words :  — 

"I  thank  thee,  Black  Gown,  and  thee,  O 
Frenchman,  for  having  taken  so  much  trouble 
to  come  to  visit  us.  Never  has  the  earth  been 
so  beautiful  or  the  sun  so  bright  as  to-day. 
Never  has  our  river  been  so  calm  or  so  free  from 
rocks,  which  thy  canoes  have  removed  in  pass- 
ing. Never  has  our  tobacco  tasted  so  good  or 
our  corn  appeared  so  fine  as  we  now  see  it. 
Here  is  my  son  whom  I  give  thee  to  show  thee 
my  heart." 

Thus  the  captive  Indian  lad  came  to  be  one 
of  the  party  of  explorers  and  to  share  their 
strange  wanderings  and  adventures  in  the  Great 
Valley. 

As  the  priest  spoke  of  the  God  of  the  French 
who  had  sent  his  men  across  seas  and  into  for- 
ests, the  Indian  chief,  and  those  who  sat  with 
him,  thought  of  their  own  manitous  and  gods, 
and  of  their  own  medicine  men  who  understood 

12 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

and  knew  the  powerful  spirits,  and  by  prayers 
and  incantations  could  influence  them  to  bring 
sunshine  to  ripen  the  corn  and  rain  in  time  of 
drought,  to  guard  them  in  warfare,  and  to  cure 
them  in  sickness.  This  black-robed  priest  must 
be  a  great  medicine  man  in  the  lodges  of  the 
whites;  and  so  the  chief  said:  — 

"I  beg  thee  to  have  pity  on  me  and  on  my 
nation.  It  is  thou  who  knowest  the  Spirit  who 
made  us  all.  It  is  thou  who  speakest  to  Him  and 
hearest  his  word.  Beg  Him  to  give  me  life  and 
health  and  to  come  and  dwell  with  us  that  we 
may  know  Him." 

Then  the  chief  gave  the  priest  a  pipe  like  that 
which  the  two  old  men  had  carried.  It  was 
carved,  and  decked  with  the  plumage  of  birds, 
and  its  stem  was  as  long  as  a  tall  brave's  arm. 
It  was  a  token  of  peace  which  the  white  men 
would  often  need  in  the  countries  they  were 
about  to  explore.  With  this  present  the  Peoria 
spoke  of  the  love  he  bore  for  the  great  chief  of 
the  French. 

With  another  present  he  warned  the  white 
men  of  the  dangers  ahead  of  them;  and  he 
begged  them  not  to  go  farther.  Tribes  fierce 
and  deadly  lived  toward  the  south,  and  other 

13 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

dangers  more  mysterious  and  awful  lurked  along 
the  waters  of  the  river.  But  the  gentle-faced 
priest  replied  that  he  had  no  fear  of  death,  say- 
ing that  he  counted  no  happiness  greater  than 
to  die  teaching  of  his  God. 

Amazed  were  all  the  Indians  who  sat  in  the 
chiefs  lodge  and  heard  this  answer.  To  scalp  a 
foe  in  honor  of  one's  manitou  and  to  the  glory 
of  his  nation  seemed  the  height  of  joy  and  tri- 
umph; but  they  could  not  understand  the  cour- 
age of  one  who  would  willingly  be  scalped  or 
tortured  in  honor  of  his  God.  So  they  made  no 
reply  and  the  council  closed. 

Meanwhile  among  the  lodges  Indian  women 
and  girls  had  busied  themselves  in  preparing  a 
feast  for  the  strangers.  Papooses  were  hung  up 
out  of  the  way  on  trees  or  leaned  against  the 
lodge  walls  while  their  mothers  brought  corn 
and  meat,  stirred  the  fires,  and  killed  a  dog  for 
the  distinguished  guests.  A  woman  whose  nose 
had  been  cut  off  as  a  punishment  for  unfaith- 
fulness to  her  husband  came  out  of  a  near-by 
lodge.  Young  girls,  whose  daily  duty  it  was  to 
care  for  the  rows  of  corn  and  beans  in  the  fields, 
now  helped  to  bring  into  the  lodge  the  food 
which  the  women  had  made  ready. 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

The  first  course  at  this  Peoria  feast  was  saga- 
mite,  a  dish  made  from  the  meal  of  Indian  corn 
and  seasoned  with  fat.  It  was  served  on  a  great 
wooden  platter.  An  Indian,  acting  as  master  of 
ceremonies,  took  a  spoon  made  from  the  bone  of 
a  buffalo,  filled  it  with  sagamite,  and  presented 
it  several  times  to  the  mouths  of  the  strangers 
as  one  would  feed  children.  Then  they  brought, 
fresh  from  the  fires  which  the  Indian  women 
had  tended,  a  dish  containing  three  fish.  The 
same  Indian  took  the  fish,  removed  the  bones, 
blew  upon  some  pieces  to  cool  them,  and  fed 
them  to  the  guests.  The  third  course,  which 
was  served  only  upon  rare  and  highly  import- 
ant occasions,  consisted  of  the  meat  of  a  dog 
freshly  killed.  To  the  great  surprise  of  the 
Indians  the  white  men  did  not  eat  of  this 
dish,  and  so  it  was  taken  away.  The  fourth 
course  was  buffalo  meat,  the  choicest  morsels 
of  which  were  given  to  the  priest  and  his  com- 
panion. 

After  this  elaborate  feast,  the  Peorias  took 
their  visitors  through  the  whole  village,  and 
the  open-mouthed  and  open-hearted  Indians 
brought  them  gifts  of  their  own  make  —  belts 
and  bracelets  made  from  the  hair  of  buffalo  or 

IS 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

bear  and  dyed  red,  yellow,  and  gray.  At  length 
when  night  came  upon  the  Peoria  lodges, 
Marquette  and  Joliet  were  made  comfortable 
on  beds  of  buffalo  robes  in  the  lodge  of  the 
chief. 

In  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day  the  strangers 
departed  from  the  Indian  lodges  on  the  Iowa 
River  and  followed  the  pathway  back  to  the 
bank  of  the  Mississippi;  and  with  them,  cour- 
teous to  the  last,  went  the  chief  and  full  six  hun- 
dred members  of  the  tribe.  When  they  came 
out  upon  the  river  bank,  the  Indians  gazed  in 
wonder  at  the  five  white  men  who  had  been  left 
by  their  leaders  to  guard  two  small  canoes  — 
small,  indeed,  in  comparison  with  the  great 
boats  of  the  Peorias  which,  hollowed  out  of 
three-foot  logs,  were  half  a  hundred  feet  long. 

The  sun  was  about  halfway  down  the  sky 
when  the  strangers  embarked.  The  Peorias, 
gathered  on  the  bank,  looked  on  curiously  as 
the  two  white  men  and  the  Indian  boy  joined 
their  companions  in  the  birch-bark  canoes, 
pushed  out  from  the  shore,  swung  into  the  cur- 
rent, and  paddled  off  downstream.  Then  they 
faced  the  dropping  sun  and  walked  back  to  the 
village.  As  they  thought  of  the  savage  tribes  to 

16 


THE  COMING  OF  THE  STRANGERS 

the  south  and  the  awful  dangers  of  the  river, 
they  doubted  greatly  if  the  gallant  strangers 
would  again  come  to  their  village  and  pay 
them  the  visit  which  the  black-robed  priest  had 
promised. 

They  did  see  these  same  voyagers  again,  but 
not  in  the  village  by  the  side  of  the  Iowa  River; 
for  during  that  very  summer  the  Peoria  tribe 
moved.  One  day  the  Indian  women  stripped 
the  lodgepoles,  packed  up  the  camp  imple- 
ments, loaded  themselves  with  supplies  of  food 
and  robes,  and  together  with  the  men  of  the  vil- 
lage started  on  a  journey  eastward  which  led 
them  far  beyond  the  Mississippi.  On  the  banks 
of  the  Illinois  River,  not  far  from  the  lake  that 
still  bears  their  name,  the  Peoria  women  set  up 
new  lodges  and  kindled  the  fires  that  were  to 
burn  day  and  night  in  the  new  home.  Farther 
up  the  same  river  another  tribe  of  the  Illinois 
Nation  —  the  Kaskaskias  —  were  living  in  a 
village  on  the  north  bank. 

Between  these  two  Illinois  towns  the  young 
braves  no  doubt  often  passed  during  the  sum- 
mer of  1673 ;  and  as  they  sat  by  the  fires  of  their 
Kaskaskia  brothers  and  smoked  the  long  calu- 
mets, the  Peorias  told  of  the  coming  of  the 

17 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

whites  to  the  village  beyond  the  Mississippi  and 
of  their  departure  with  the  Indian  boy  to  jour- 
ney down  the  length  of  the  mysterious  river  to 
the  great  salt  sea  of  the  south. 


Ill 

DOWN  THE   GREAT  RIVER 

A  black-robed  priest,  a  young  fur  trader, 
five  Frenchmen,  and  a  young  Indian  boy  sat  in 
two  birch-bark  canoes  on  the  broad  current  of 
the  Mississippi  River  one  summer  evening. 
Having  eaten  a  hurried  supper  beside  a  camp- 
fire  on  the  bank,  they  paddled  on  down  the 
darkening  river  so  that  the  fire  might  not 
betray  them  to  Indian  enemies.  Night  over- 
took them  and  they  anchored  their  canoes  in 
midstream.  Leaving  one  man  on  guard,  the 
rest  of  the  party  made  themselves  as  com- 
fortable as  possible  in  the  narrow  boats  and 
tried  to  get  some  sleep. 

The  sentinel  sat  silent  in  his  canoe,  but  with 
every  sense  alert.  Through  the  long  hours  of 
night  he  watched  with  keen  eye  for  unnatural 
shadows  in  the  dim  light  of  moon  or  stars  and 
listened  for  sound  of  paddle  or  stir  of  wild 
animals.  The  adventurers  were  in  a  strange 
country  and  they  knew  not  what  dangers  might 
lurk  beside  them  while  they  slept. 

19 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

The  Indian  boy,  into  whose  valley  the  stran- 
gers had  come,  knew  the  ways  of  the  night 
upon  river  and  shore,  but  he  was  now  in  strange 
company.  It  may  be  that  he,  too,  was  awake, 
thinking  over  in  his  childish  heart  the  curious 
ways  of  these  white  men.  The  Peoria  village 
where  he  had  so  lately  made  his  home  was  many 
leagues  up  the  river.  What  lands  were  they 
coming  to?  When  would  the  monsters  of  the 
river,  of  whom  his  people  had  told  him,  swal- 
low them,  canoes  and  all,  into  a  terrible  death  ? 

When  a  certain  constellation  crossed  the 
zenith  the  sentinel  reached  over  and  waked  one 
of  his  comrades,  then  joined  the  others  in  sleep. 
At  length  the  darkness  began  to  lift,  as  to  the 
left  the  faint  light  of  dawn  crept  up  over  the 
rocky  bank  of  the  river.  Soon  the  Frenchmen 
awoke,  took  to  their  paddles,  and  began  an- 
other day's  journey. 

Each  stroke  of  the  paddles  carried  the  Indian 
boy  farther  from  his  home  and  nearer  the  mon- 
sters of  the  great  river.  By  training  a  keen 
observer,  he  looked  up  at  a  steep  wall  of  rock 
and  caught  sight  of  two  strange  and  fearsome 
figures.  Terror  possessed  him,  for  he  knew  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  the  dread  beings  of  which 

20 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

his  people  had  warned  him.  There,  painted  on 
the  rocks  in  red,  black,  and  green  colors,  were 
two  monsters  as  large  as  buffalo  calves.  They 
had  faces  like  men,  but  with  horrible  red  eyes, 
and  beards  like  those  of  bull  buffalo;  and  on 
their  heads  were  horns  like  the  horns  of  deer. 
Scales  covered  their  bodies ;  and  their  tails  were 
so  long  that  they  wound  about  the  body  and 
over  the  head  and,  going  back  between  their 
legs,  ended  in  the  tail  of  a  fish. 

It  was  as  if  the  Indian  boy  were  alone  with  an 
evil  spirit,  for  no  Indian  was  near  him.  He 
could  ask  the  white  men  no  questions.  They, 
too,  now  saw  the  dread  animals;  and  with  much 
pointing  and  excitement  began  to  talk  among 
themselves,  but  in  a  tongue  the  Indian  boy 
could  not  understand.  Not  daring  to  look  long 
at  the  pictured  rock,  he  turned  his  face  away 
and  sat  in  his  narrow  seat  uncomforted  and 
filled  with  that  mystic  awe  which  only  people  of 
his  own  race  could  feel.  The  white  men  talked 
on  as  the  canoes  swept  smoothly  downstream. 

Suddenly  as  they  talked  a  dull  roar  met  their 
ears,  growing  louder  as  they  descended  the  river 
until  they  saw  a  great  opening  in  the  bank  at 
the  right  and  a  broad  river  pour  in  from  the 

21 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

northwest  to  join  them.  It  was  the  Missouri 
coming  down  from  the  mountains  a  thousand 
miles  away  and  hurling  into  the  Mississippi  a 
mass  of  mud  and  debris,  huge  branches,  and 
even  whole  trees.  The  two  canoes  dodged  here 
and  there,  while  the  men  at  the  paddles,  alert 
now  and  forgetful  of  painted  dragons,  drove 
their  craft  now  to  the  right,  now  to  the  left, 
swerved  to  avoid  a  great  tree,  or  paddled  for 
their  lives  to  outrace  a  mass  of  brush.  Vigorous 
work  alone  saved  them. 

Out  of  danger,  the  adventurers  fell  to  won- 
dering from  what  lands  came  the  mighty  stream. 
The  stout-hearted  Marquette  vowed  to  stem 
its  powerful  current  at  some  future  day  and  fol- 
low its  waters  to  their  source,  thinking  that  he 
might  thus  find  andtEeF  stream  which  would 
take  him  westward  into  the  great  Vermilion 
Sea  that  lay  on  the  road  to  China.  But  the 
Indiair  boy  did  not  easily  forget  the  monsters 
on  the  rocks,  and  he  still  looked  about  him  with 
apprehensive  glances. 

It  was  not  many  leagues  farther  down  the 
stream  that  the  voyagers  came  to  another  of 
the  fearful  dangers  of  which  the  Peorias  had 
warned  them  —  a  place  in  the   river  where, 

22 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

according  to  Indian  legend,  there  lived  a  demon 
who  devoured  travelers  and  sucked  them  down 
into  the  troubled  depths.  As  they  approached 
the  dreaded  spot,  they  saw  a  fierce  surging  of 
the  waters,  driven  with  terrific  force  into  a 
small  cove.  Rocks  rose  high  out  of  the  stream ; 
and  against  these  the  river  dashed  mightily, 
tossing  foam  and  spray  into  the  air.  Balked  in 
their  course,  the  waters  paused,  then  hurled 
themselves  down  into  a  narrow  channel. 

To  the  Indian  mind,  which  saw  life  and 
humanity,  good  spirits  and  bad,  in  all  of  nature, 
there  was  an  evil  spirit  in  these  turbulent  wa- 
ters. It  was  with  the  eyes  of  his  own  race  that 
the  Indian  boy  now  watched  the  high-tossed 
spray.  But  the  two  canoes  passed  by  in  safety 
and  soon  came  to  smoother  waters. 

Presently  the  voyagers  drew  near  the  broad 
mouth  of  the  Ohio,  in  whose  valley,  raided 
from  time  to  time  by  fierce  tribes  of  the  Iro- 
quois, were  the  villages  of  the  Shawnee  Indians. 
Along  the  shores  were  canes  and  reeds  that 
grew  thick  and  high.  Mosquitoes  began  to 
gather  in  swarms  that  made  life  miserable  for 
the  men  as  they  toiled  in  the  heat  of  the  day. 
But  following  the  way  of  the  Indians  of  the 

23 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

Southern  country,  they  raised  above  their 
canoes  tents  of  canvas  which  sheltered  them  in 
part  from  both  the  mosquitoes  and  the  burning 
sun. 

So  sailing,  they  came  one  day  unexpectedly 
upon  a  group  of  armed  Indians.  Up  rose  Mar- 
quette and  held  high  the  pipe  of  peace,  while 
Joliet  and  his  comrades  reached  for  their  guns 
to  be  ready  should  an  attack  be  made.  This 
time,  however,  they  were  safe;  for  the  Indians 
were  only  inviting  them  to  come  ashore  and  eat. 
The  voyagers  landed  and  were  led  to  the  village, 
where  the  Indians  fed  them  upon  buffalo  meat 
and  white  plums. 

It  was  evident  that  these  Indians  were 
acquainted  with  white  men,  and  that  they 
bought  goods  of  traders  from  the  East;  for  they 
had  knives  and  guns  and  beads  and  cloth  and 
hatchets  and  hoes,  and  even  glass  flasks  for 
their  powder.  Venturesome  Englishmen  from 
the  Atlantic  Coast  had  perhaps  sold  them 
these  things  in  exchange  for  furs.  With  the 
Spanish  firmly  settled  in  the  Southwest,  and  the 
English  —  long-time  enemies  of  France — push- 
ing in  from  the  East,  it  was  high  time  that  the 
French  came  down  the  river,  if  the  Great  Valley 

24 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

of  the  Mississippi  were  ever  to  be  brought  under 
the  flag  of  France. 

The  Indians  now  told  Marquette  and  Joliet 
that  the  great  sea  to  the  south  was  only  ten 
days'  journey  away;  and  so  with  renewed 
energy  the  band  of  eight  set  out  once  more  in 
their  canoes.  Huge  cottonwoods  and  elms  now 
lined  either  shore,  and  bright-plumaged  birds 
darted  from  limb  to  limb;  while  in  the  hidden 
prairies  beyond  could  be  heard  the  bellowing  of 
wild  buffalo. 

As  they  drew  near  a  village  of  Michigamea 
Indians,  whose  lodges  were  almost  at  the 
water's  edge,  the  voyagers  heard  the  savage 
yells  of  warriors  inciting  one  another  to  an 
attack.  Soon  they  swarmed  along  the  shore 
with  bows  and  arrows,  and  with  hatchets  and 
great  war  clubs.  In  vain  did  Marquette  hold  up 
the  calumet  of  peace.  Downstream  the  Indians 
climbed  into  their  long  dugouts  and  pushed  up 
to  attack  the  strangers  from  below;  while  up- 
stream other  young  warriors  launched  their 
wooden  canoes  and  swept  down  the  river  with 
hoarse  cries  of  battle.  Hemmed  in  by  the  two 
war  parties  in  boats,  and  with  armed  enemies 
howling  along  the  river  bank,  death  seemed 

2S 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

very  near  to  the  Frenchmen.  The  warning 
words  of  the  Peoria  chief  had  told  them  of  just 
such  an  end. 

Perhaps  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  Canadian 
river  towns  and  the  smiling  face  of  France  had 
never  seemed  so  far  away  as  now  in  these  un- 
traveled  stretches  of  the  Great  Valley.  And  the 
Indian  lad  —  before  him  lay  either  death  or 
captivity.  In  just  such  scenes  as  this  he  had 
passed  from  tribe  to  tribe.  It  may  be  that  his 
young  mind  now  carried  him  back  to  the  village 
where  the  smoke  rose  from  the  lodges  of  his 
own  people,  where  his  own  mother  had  un- 
loosed the  thongs  that  bound  him  to  the  cradle 
of  his  papoose  days,  and  taught  him  to  run  over 
the  green  prairies  and  in  the  cool  woods  with 
the  other  lads,  learning  to  draw  a  bow  and  trap 
wild  creatures  of  the  forest  and  roll  about  in  the 
sun,  naked  and  healthy  and  happy. 

But  this  was  not  a  time  to  think  of  other 
days.  A  handful  of  young  braves  threw  them- 
selves into  the  river  to  seize  the  small  canoes 
of  the  white  men;  but  finding  the  current  too 
strong,  they  put  back  to  the  shore.  One  raised 
his  club  and  hurled  it  at  the  black-robed  priest. 
Whirling  through  the  air  it  passed  over  the 

26 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

canoes  and  fell  with  a  splash  into  the  river. 
Nearer  and  nearer  closed  the  net  of  enemies 
about  them,  until  from  every  side  bows  began 
to  bend  and  arrows  drew  back,  tipped  with 
death. 

Suddenly  their  weapons  dropped.  Older  men 
among  them,  perhaps  recognizing  for  the  first 
time  the  pipe  of  peace  which  Marquette  still 
held,  restrained  the  impetuous  young  braves. 
Coming  to  the  water's  edge  as  the  white  men 
drew  nearer,  two  chiefs  tossed  their  bows  and 
quivers  into  the  canoes  and  invited  the  stran- 
gers to  come  ashore  in  peace. 

With  signs  and  gestures  Indians  and  white 
men  talked.  In  vain  did  Marquette  try,  one 
after  another,  the  six  Indian  languages  which  he 
knew.  At  length  there  came  forward  an  old 
man  who  spoke  a  broken  Illinois  tongue. 
Through  him  Marquette  asked  many  questions 
about  the  lower  river  and  the  sea.  But  the 
Indians  only  replied  that  the  strangers  could 
learn  all  they  wished  at  a  village  of  the  Arkansas 
Indians,  about  ten  leagues  farther  down  the 
stream.  The  explorers  were  fed  with  sagamite 
and  fish;  and,  not  without  some  fear,  they  spent 
the  night  in  the  Indian  village. 

27 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

The  next  morning  they  continued  their  jour- 
ney, taking  the  old  man  with  them  as  an  inter- 
preter; and  ahead  of  them  went  a  canoe  with 
ten  Indians.  They  had  not  gone  many  leagues 
when  they  saw  two  canoes  coming  up  the  river 
to  meet  them.  In  one  stood  an  Indian  chief 
who  held  a  calumet  and  made  signs  of  peace. 
Chanting  a  strange  Indian  song,  he  gave  the 
white  men  tobacco  to  smoke  and  sagamite  and 
bread  made  from  Indian  corn  to  eat.  Under  the 
direction  of  their  new  guides  the  Frenchmen 
soon  came  to  the  village  of  the  Arkansas,  which 
lay  near  the  mouth  of  the  river  of  that  name. 

Here  under  the  scaffold  of  the  chief  they  were 
given  seats  on  fine  rush  mats.  In  a  circle  about 
them  were  gathered  the  elders  of  the  tribe;  and 
around  about  the  elders  were  the  warriors; 
and  beyond  the  warriors  in  a  great  crowd  were 
the  rest  of  the  tribe  eager  to  see  and  hear  the 
strange  men  who  had  come  down  from  the 
north.  Among  the  young  men  was  one  who 
spoke  the  Illinois  tongue  better  than  the  old 
man,  and  through  him  Marquette  talked  to  the 
tribe.  In  his  talk  he  told  of  the  white  man's 
religion,  and  of  the  great  French  chief  who  had 
sent  them  down  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi. 

28 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

Then  he  asked  them  all  manner  of  questions 
about  the  trip  to  the  sea.  Was  it  many  days' 
journey  now?  And  what  tribes  were  on  the 
way? 

It  was  only  on  occasions  like  this  that  the 
indian  boy  understood  what  was  said,  for 
usually  his  companions  in  the  canoes  spoke  the 
melodious  but  to  him  wholly  unintelligible 
French.  He  now  listened  to  the  Illinois  tongue 
with  keen  interest.  The  young  interpreter  was 
telling  of  their  neighbors  to  the  north  and  east 
and  south  and  west.  Four  days'  journey  to  the 
west  was  the  village  of  an  Illinois  tribe,  and  to 
the  east  were  other  friendly  people  from  whom 
they  bought  hatchets,  knives,  and  beads.  But 
toward  the  great  sea  to  the  south,  where  the 
white  men  wished  to  go,  were  their  enemies. 
Savage  tribes  with  guns  barred  them  from 
trade  with  the  Spaniards.  AH  along  the  lower 
river  the  fierce  tribes  were  continually  fighting; 
and  woe  betide  the  white  men  if  they  ventured 
farther,  for  they  would  never  return. 

As  the  Indians  told  of  the  dangers  of  the  river 
below  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas  River,  large 
platters  of  wood  were  continually  being  brought 
in,  heaped  with  sagamite,  Indian  corn,  and  the 

29 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

flesh  of  dogs.  Nor  did  the  feast  end  before  the 
close  of  day. 

Meditating  upon  the  warnings  of  their  hosts, 
the  white  men  made  ready  for  the  night.  When 
they  had  retired  on  beds  raised  about  two  feet 
from  the  ground  at  the  end  of  their  long  bark- 
covered  lodge,  the  Indians  held  a  secret  council. 
Some  of  the  warriors  had  looked  with  envious 
eyes  upon  the  canoes,  clothes,  and  presents  of 
the  whites.  Why  not  fall  upon  the  strangers  by 
night,  beat  out  their  brains  with  skull-crackers 
or  Indian  war  clubs,  and  make  away  with  the 
plunder?  To  some  of  the  covetous  Indians  it 
was  a  tempting  plan.  The  whites  were  defense- 
less and  hundreds  of  leagues  from  their  friends. 
Who  was  there  to  avenge  their  death? 

But  to  the  chief,  who  had  welcomed  the 
visitors  with  the  pipe  of  peace,  the  bond  of 
friendship  was  sacred.  He  broke  up  the  schemes 
of  the  treacherous  braves,  dismissed  the  coun- 
cil, and  sent  for  the  white  men.  Then  with  the 
pipe  of  peace  in  his  hand  he  danced  before  the 
strangers  the  sacred  calumet  dance;  and  as  he 
closed  the  ceremony  he  gave  into  the  hands  of 
Marquette  the  calumet.  It  was  a  token,  sacred 
among  all  Indians,  that  peace  should  not  be 

30 


DOWN   THE  GREAT  RIVER 

broken,  and  that  the  whites  would  be  unharmed. 

The  Frenchmen,  however,  did  not  sleep  much. 
Joliet  and  the  priest  sat  up  far  into  the  night 
and  counseled  together  as  to  whether  they 
should  go  on  to  the  sea  or  turn  back.  They 
were  now  very  near  to  the  sea,  they  thought  — 
so  near  that  they  were  confident  that  the  river 
continued  southward  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
instead  of  turning  to  the  west  or  east  to  the 
Vermilion  Sea  or  the  Atlantic  Ocean.  Indeed, 
they  believed  that  in  two  or  three  days  they 
might  reach  the  Gulf. 

But  in  the  country  between  the  mouth  of  the 
Arkansas  and  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi 
skulked  fierce  and  murderous  tribes;  while  not 
far  away  were  the  Spaniards.  Should  they  fall 
into  the  hands  of  enemies  and  lose  their  lives, 
who  would  tell  to  France  the  story  of  their 
marvelous  joumeyings?  Their  beloved  nation 
would  lose  all  knowledge  of  their  expedition 
and  therefore  all  claim  to  the  Great  Valley  by 
right  of  their  exploration.  Then,  too,  there 
seemed  little  more  to  be  learned  in  traveling  the 
balance  of  the  way  to  the  mouth.  Joliet  was 
anxious  to  report  to  his  government  the  story 
of  the  expedition,  and  Marquette  was  full  of 

31 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

eagerness  to  tell  his  brother,  priests  of  the 
Indians  whom  he  had  met  and  the  great  work 
that  lay  open  to  their  missionary  efforts. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  voyagers  were  many 
a  long  day's  journey  from  the  river's  mouth. 
But  happy  in  the  thought  that  they  were 
nearly  there,  Joliet  and  the  priest  at  last  deter- 
mined to  turn  back  upstream  and  carry  to  New 
France  the  wonderful  tale  of  their  pioneer  voy- 
age down  the  great  untraveled  river. 


IV 

THE   CAPTIVE   RELEASED 

It  was  about  the  middle  of  July,  1673,  when 
the  Arkansas  Indians  saw  the  band  of  white 
men  leave  their  village  to  start  out  upon  the 
return  voyage.  The  weeks  that  followed  their 
departure  from  the  Arkansas  town  were  full  of 
toil  for  the  voyagers;  for  now  in  the  heat  of 
summer  they  must  paddle  against  the  current 
of  the  greatest  of  American  rivers.  At  length, 
coming  to  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois  and  believ- 
ing that  it  offered  a  shorter  route  than  the  one 
by  which  they  had  come,  they  turned  into  its 
waters  and  paddled  up  its  smooth  stream 
toward  the  Lake. 

In  the  course  of  this  journey  up  the  Illinois 
River  they  came  one  day,  with  great  surprise, 
to  a  village  in  whose  lodges  lived  the  same 
Peoria  Indians  whom  they  had  last  seen  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Mississippi,  in  the  town  on  the 
bank  of  the  Iowa  River.  The  Peorias,  too, 
were  surprised  to  see  the  seven  white  men  and 
the  Indian  boy  come  paddling  up  the  stream. 

33 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

Here  the  tired  voyagers  were  welcomed  with 
such  hospitality  that  they  lingered  for  three 
days  in  the  village.  The  Indian  boy  renewed 
old  acquaintances,  while  Marquette  passed 
from  lodge  to  lodge,  telling  the  Indians  of  the 
God  of  the  French  who  had  guarded  them  in 
their  long  journey  and  protected  them  from 
pestilence  and  the  disasters  of  the  river,  and 
from  torture  and  murder  by  hostile  tribes  of 
Indians.  The  Peorias  in  turn  told  the  priest  of 
their  brother  tribes  along  the  Illinois  River  and 
of  the  wars  they  waged  together  against  the 
Sacs  and  Foxes  of  the  North  and  the  bands  of 
Iroquois  from  the  East.  But  as  they  looked 
into  the  face  of  the  priest,  they  saw  lines  of  suf- 
fering and  sickness,  and  they  knew  that  he  had 
not  borne  with  ease  the  long  and  arduous  trip. 

When  the  voyagers  made  ready  to  depart,  the 
Indians  gathered  at  the  river  bank  to  bid  them 
good-bye.  As  they  were  about  to  embark,  some 
Indians  brought  to  the  edge  of  the  stream  a  sick 
child  and  asked  Father  Marquette  to  baptize  it. 
With  great  joy  the  priest  complied,  for  it  was  the 
first  and,  indeed,  the  only  baptism  on  the  whole 
summer's  voyage.  A  few  minutes  later  the  little 
child  died. 

34 


THE  CAPTIVE  RELEASED 

The  canoes  were  then  pushed  into  the  stream, 
the  men  dipped  their  paddles,  and,  rounding  a 
point  of  land  a  short  distance  up  the  stream, 
disappeared  from  view.  The  group  of  Indians 
turned  back  to  the  village,  bearing  the  body  of 
the  dead  child.  They  wrapped  it  tenderly  in  the 
skins  of  wild  animals  and  laid  it  away  on  a  scaf- 
fold of  poles  high  above  the  reach  of  prowling 
wolves. 

Autumn  came  upon  the  land  and  through  the 
fallen  leaves  along  the  shore  the  young  Indians 
passed  back  and  forth  among  the  villages  on 
the  Illinois.  From  the  Kaskaskias,  who  dwelt 
farther  up  the  river,  the  Peorias  learned  that 
Marquette  and  Joliet  had  stopped  at  the  upper 
village,  and  that  the  black  robe  had  promised 
to  come  again  and  preach  to  them.  Moreover, 
when  they  left  this  village,  one  of  the  chiefs  of 
the  nation,  with  a  band  of  his  own  men,  went 
with  them  up  the  river,  across  the  portage,  and 
as  far  as  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois  —  as  they 
then  called  Lake  Michigan.  There  they  left  the 
white  men  paddling  valiantly  up  the  west  shore 
toward  Green  Bay  and  the  Jesuit  Mission  of 
St.  Francis  Xavier. 

35 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

At  Green  Bay,  Marquette  stopped  with  his 
brother  priests  and  tried  to  *  gain  strength 
enough  to  return  to  the  Illinois  villages.  But 
Joliet  went  farther.  Taking  the  Indian  lad  with 
him,  he  journeyed  as  far  as  the  settlement  at  the 
Straits  of  Mackinac.  There  the  young  Indian 
spent  such  a  winter  as  he  had  never  known 
before.  About  him  were  the  great  log  lodges  of 
the  French;  and  in  the  streets  of  the  little  town 
walked  men  of  strange  and  curious  ways.  There 
were  dark-bearded  traders,  priests  with  black 
robes  and  cowls,  trappers  and  coureurs  de  bois  in 
blanket  coats,  and  fur  caps;  and  Indians,  from 
about  the  Great  Lakes,  gathered  there  to  sell 
furs  and  buy  the  white  man's  guns  and  liquor. 

The  Indian  boy  soon  began  to  understand 
and  talk  the  language  of  the  white  men,  and  by 
the  end  of  the  winter  he  could  even  read  and 
write  a  little  in  French.  He  was  quick  to  learn 
the  ways  of  the  Frenchmen;  and  his  many 
attractive  qualities  endeared  him  to  Joliet . 

When  the  spring  of  1674  came  on,  Joliet  and 
several  Frenchmen  embarked  in  a  canoe  and 
began  the  descent  of  the  Great  Lakes.  They 
were  bound  for  the  home  of  the  governor  of 
New  France  at  Quebec,  high  on  the  rocks  beside 

36 


THE  CAPTIVE  RELEASED 

the  St.  Lawrence.  As  a  gift  to  the  governor, 
Joliet  was  taking  the  Indian  boy  who  had 
shared  his  wanderings  in  the  Great  Valley. 

Joliet  and  his  companions  were  weeks  upon 
the  journey,  paddling  steadily  by  lake  shore  and 
river,  through  straits  and  past  wooded  islands. 
Only  once  were  they  compelled  to  carry  their 
canoe  over  a  portage.  At  last  they  came  near  to 
the  town  of  Montreal,  with  the  high  hill  rising 
up  behind  it.  They  were  nearly  home  now,  and 
the  heart  of  Joliet  must  have  leaped  high  as  he 
thought  of  the  long  months  he  had  spent  on  his 
perilous  journey.  Soon  he  would  come  in  tri- 
umph before  Frontenac,  governor  of  Canada, 
and  tell  him  of  his  explorations  and  put  into  his 
hands  his  map  and  papers  and  the  precious 
journal  of  his  voyage.  These  documents  lay  be- 
side him  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe  in  a  box, 
together  with  some  relics  of  the  far-away  valley 
of  the  Mississippi. 

Only  La  Chine  Rapids  —  the  Sault  St.  Louis 
as  they  were  then  called  —  lay  between  the 
voyagers  and  Montreal,  and  then  the  road  was 
clear  and  smooth  to  the  high  rock  of  Quebec. 
The  canoe  entered  the  swift-running  water. 
Foam-covered  rocks  swept  past  them.  Many  a 

37 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

time  had  Joliet  passed  through  these  rapids. 
Probably,  after  all  the  perils  through  which  he 
had  safely  come  on  the  Great  River,  he  looked 
only  with  joy  upon  this  familiar  rush  of  waters. 
Perhaps  to  the  Indian  boy  came  the  thought  of 
the  demon  whom  his  people  feared  in  the  surg- 
ing waters  of  the  Mississippi.  Surely  another 
such  demon  lived  in  this  troubled  passage,  with 
death  in  its  relentless  grasp. 

As  if  to  prove  real  the  fears  of  the  Indian,  the 
demon  of  the  water  reached  out  a  great  wet 
arm  and  overturned  the  frail  canoe.  Tossed 
into  the  fierce  current  were  Joliet  and  his  French 
boatmen,  the  Indian  boy,  and  the  precious  box 
of  papers ;  while  downstream  went  blindly  bob- 
bing the  bark  canoe.  Wildly  the  men  struggled 
in  the  rushing  stream,  the  current  all  the  while 
wrenching  at  their  legs  and  playing  with  their 
feeble  efforts.  Joliet  fought  till  the  breath  was 
gone  from  his  lungs  and  the  strength  from  his 
limbs.  Then  he  lost  consciousness. 

The  unpitying  sun  made  a  long  arc  in  the 
heavens  above  the  tossing  human  bodies.  Four 
hours  had  Joliet  been  in  the  water  when  fisher- 
men pulled  him  out  on  shore  and  brought  him 
back  to  life.  Two  of  his  men  were  drowned;  and 

38 


THE   CAPTIVE  RELEASED 

his  precious  box  of  papers  lay  somewhere  be- 
neath the  rushing  waters. 

And  the  Indian  boy?  He,  too,  had  given  up 
to  the  evil  spirit  of  the  rapids.  No  more  would 
he  pass  like  a  waif  from  tribe  to  tribe;  no 
longer  would  he  try  with  eyes  and  tongue  and 
fingers  to  learn  the  ways  of  his  new  white 
friends.  Forever  he  had  left  the  rolling  hills  and 
streams  of  the  Great  Valley,  the  green  prairies 
so  full  of  sunshine,  and  the  woods  so  full  of 
game.  He  had  passed  to  the  happy  hunting- 
ground  of  his  people. 


THE   BLACK  GOWN 

In  the  valley  of  the  Mississippi  it  was  sum- 
mer again.  Father  Marquette,  still  sick,  had 
not  come  back  to  the  Illinois  tribes.  The 
Peorias  and  Kaskaskias,  in  their  two  villages 
on  the  Illinois  River,  lived  comfortable,  happy 
lives,  for  theirs  was  a  beautiful  and  fertile  val- 
ley in  these  sunny  summer  months.  In  the  rich 
soil  of  the  prairies  the  Indian  women  had 
planted  seeds  which  had  been  carefully  pre- 
served from  the  year  before.  And  now  in  the 
fields  the  young  girls  were  working  among  the 
long  rows  of  Indian  corn  and  tending  the  bean- 
vines.  In  their  season  melons  and  squashes 
grew  plentifully.  The  woods  along  the  river 
were  full  of  game;  and  in  the  quiet  water  of  the 
Illinois,  fish  by  the  hundred  swam  to  and  fro,  an 
easy  target  for  the  swift-winged  arrow  of  the 
Indian  youth.  Far  back  on  the  plains  roamed 
great  herds  of  buffalo,  which  afforded  both 
sport  and  food  for  the  Indians.  When  fall  came, 
the  Indians  would  surround  a  herd  of  buffalo 

40 


THE  BLACK  GOWN 

and  then  set  fire  to  the  prairie,  taking  care  to 
leave  an  open  space  by  which  the  frightened 
animals  could  escape.  As  the  big  animals  passed 
out  through  this  break  in  the  circle  of  fire,  they 
were  easily  shot  by  the  Indian  hunters. 

All  up  and  down  the  river  and  over  on  the 
Lake  of  the  Illinois,  the  winter  of  1674  fell  upon 
the  land  with  stinging  fierceness.  The  air  was 
so  cold  that  it  was  almost  brittle.  The  winds 
howled  and  swept  through  the  valley  with 
gusts  that  drove  the  Indians  chilled  to  their 
firesides ;  while  the  snow,  as  it  piled  higher  and 
higher,  often  brought  despair  to  the  men  scat- 
tered far  and  wide  on  their  long  winter  hunts. 
Sometimes  the  deer  were  so  lean  as  to  be 
scarcely  worth  the  shooting.  From  the  Missis- 
sippi to  the  cold  shores  of  the  Lakes  the  men  of 
the  Illinois  tribes  were  hunting  and  trapping 
and  trading  furs. 

One  day  during  this  bleak  winter  there  came 
striding  into  the  village  of  the  Kaskaskias  an 
Indian  of  great  note  among  the  Illinois.  He  was 
Chassagoac,  the  famous  Kaskaskia  chief  and 
fur  trader.  Having  just  come  from  the  upper 
shores  of  Lake  Michigan,  he  reported  that  near 
Green  Bay  he  had  come  upon  Father  Mar- 

41 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

quette  with  two  Frenchmen,  setting  out  at  last 
for  the  villages  of  the  Illinois.  Coming  into 
camp  with  a  deer  on  his  back,  he  had  shared  his 
meat  with  these  white  men  and  on  the  next  day 
had  set  out  with  them  down  the  west  shore  of 
the  Lake.  The  courageous  priest  was  still  far 
from  well,  but  he  was  determined  to  keep  his 
promise  to  the  Illinois  Indians.  Accompanied 
by  a  number  of  Illinois  men  who  were  out  on 
the  winter  hunt,  and  by  the  Illinois  women  who 
had  packed  the  canoes  and  equipments  across 
the  portage  from  Green  Bay  to  the  Lake,  the 
party  made  their  way  slowly  southward  along 
the  shore. 

Father  Marquette  spent  part  of  the  time 
teaching  the  Indians;  while  his  two  men,  Pierre 
and  Jacques,  mended  the  guns  of  the  Indian 
hunters  and  went  out  with  them  in  search  of 
game.  Their  canoes  were  too  frail  to  stand 
much  of  the  weather  that  now  hung  about  the 
edge  of  the  Lake.  Floating  ice  drove  them 
ashore  again  and  again.  Rain,  sleet,  and  fierce, 
chilling  winds  kept  them  off  the  water  for  days 
at  a  time,  while  deep  snows  impeded  their  pro- 
gress on  land. 

Early  in  December,  they  reached  the  mouth 
42 


THE   BLACK   GOWN 

of  the  Chicago  River,  where,  moving  inland  a 
few  leagues,  the  white  men  built  a  rude  cabin 
and  made  ready  to  encamp  for  the  winter. 
Marquette  still  suffered  greatly  and  could  go  no 
farther.  Here  Chassagoac  and  his  Illinois  fol- 
lowers left  the  party  and  came  on  to  the  village; 
but  not  before  they  had  bought  of  the  whites, 
for  three  fine  beaver  skins,  a  cubit  of  the  French 
tobacco.  Then  they  had  journeyed  on  to  bring 
the  news  that  the  Black  Gown  would  come  in 
the  spring.  Great  was  the  rejoicing  among  the 
Illinois. 

Weeks  had  passed  when  Jacques,  the  priest's 
servant,  came  to  one  of  the  Illinois  camps  and 
told  of  how  the  Black  Gown  lay  sick  in  the 
cabin  near  the  Lake.  Thereupon  the  Indians 
sent  back  a  delegation  with  corn  and  dried 
meat  and  pumpkins  and  beaver  skins.  With 
these  presents  they  asked  for  powder  and  other 
merchandise.  The  priest  replied  that  he  had 
come  to  encourage  peace  —  that  he  did  not 
wish  them  to  make  war  upon  the  Miamis  — 
and  so  he  could  not  send  them  powder;  but  he 
loaded  them  down  for  their  twenty-league  jour- 
ney with  hatchets  and  knives  and  beads  and 
mirrors. 

43 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

Now  it  happened  that  there  were  two  white 
traders  who  had  also  ventured  into  the  land  of 
the  Illinois;  and  from  their  cabins  they  brought 
supplies  to  the  sick  priest.  One  of  these  men, 
who  called  himself  a  surgeon,  stayed  awhile  at 
the  lonely  cabin  of  Marquette,  glad  to  hear 
mass  and  do  what  he  could  to  relieve  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  black-gowned  father. 

It  was  with  exceeding  great  joy  that  the 
white  men  in  their  cabin  near  the  Lake  and  the 
Indians  in  their  hunting-camps  and  villages 
along  the  river  welcomed  the  warmer  winds 
from  the  south  that  broke  up  the  ice  in  the  river 
and  unlocked  the  wintry  hold  that  had  bound 
the  land.  Wild  animals  appeared  and  meat 
became  plentiful  once  more.  The  snow  melted 
down  into  rushing  streams  or  sank  into  the 
friendly  earth.  As  the  sun  became  warmer  at 
midday,  the  Indian  women  prepared  for  the 
season  of  planting. 

On  the  8th  day  of  April,  in  the  year  1675,  a 
shout  of  welcome  went  up  in  the  Kaskaskia 
village,  for  the  long-expected  priest  had  come. 
This  quiet  man,  kind  of  face  and  gentle  of  man- 
ner, found  himself  among  friends  who  looked 
with  sorrow  at  the  signs  of  sickness  graven 

44 


THE  BLACK  GOWN 

upon  his  patient  face.  They  knew  as  well  as  he 
that  he  had  not  many  months  to  live.  But  they 
saw  also  upon  his  face  a  wonderful  joy,  for  the 
priest  had  accomplished  the  one  great  purpose 
that  had  upheld  him  in  the  weary  weeks  of  suf- 
fering—  he  had  come  again  to  preach  to  the 
Illinois  Indians. 

In  one  cabin  after  another  the  good  Father 
spoke  to  the  chiefs  and  warriors  who  gathered 
to  hear  him.  Finding  the  cabins  too  small,  he 
held  a  great  meeting  in  the  open  air  on  a  broad 
level  prairie.  Here  the  whole  village  gathered. 
The  chiefs  and  elders  seated  themselves  next  to 
the  priest;  and  around  them  stood  hundreds  of 
young  Indian  braves ;  and  still  farther  from  the 
centre  of  the  vast  circle  of  red  men  were 
gathered  the  women  and  children  of  the  tribe. 
For  a  long  time  he  talked  to  them,  and  with 
each  message  he  gave  them  presents  after  the 
manner  of  Indian  councils. 

This  was  the  last  visit  of  the  black-robed 
priest  to  the  Illinois  Indians.  His  strength  soon 
failed  him,  and  with  Jacques  and  Pierre  he 
6tarted  back  up  the  river  and  across  to  the 
Lake,  hoping  against  hope  that  he  might  reach 
the  Mission  of  St.  Ignace  at  Mackinac  before  he 

45 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

died.  Friendly  Indians  went  with  them  more 
than  thirty  leagues  of  the  way,  contending  with 
one  another  for  the  privilege  of  carrying  his  few 
belongings. 

Finally  they  reached  the  Lake  and  em- 
barked. Jacques  and  Pierre  paddled  the  canoe 
along  the  shore,  as  each  day  the  priest  grew 
weaker.  He  had  always  prayed  that  he  might 
die  like  his  patron  saint,  St.  Francis  Xavier,  in 
the  far  and  lonely  wilderness  of  his  ministry. 
One  Friday  evening,  about  the  middle  of  May, 
he  told  his  companions  with  great  joy  that  he 
would  die  on  the  morrow.  As  they  passed  the 
mouth  of  a  small  river,  Marquette,  pointing  to 
a  low  hill  rising  beside  it,  asked  his  two  men  to 
bury  him  there. 

They  carried  him  ashore  and  built  for  his  pro- 
tection a  rude  cabin  of  bark.  There  he  died 
quietly  on  Saturday,  May  18,  1675.  He  was 
buried  by  his  two  men  on  the  rising  knoll  which 
he  had  chosen ;  and  over  his  grave  they  rang  his 
little  chapel  bell,  and  erected  a  rude  cross  to 
mark  the  spot. 

Some  time  later  a  party  of  Kiskakon  Indians, 
returning  from  a  hunting  trip,  came  by  the  site 
of  the  lonely  grave.  They  had  known  Father 

46 


THE   BLACK  GOWN 

Marquette  years  before  when  he  lived  on  the 
shores  of  Lake  Superior.  Now  they  deter- 
mined to  carry  his  remains  to  the  church  at  the 
Mission  of  St.  Ignace.  Reverently  they  gathered 
up  the  precious  bones,  dried  and  prepared  them 
after  their  own  Indian  fashion,  laid  them  in  a 
box  of  birch  bark,  and  bore  them  in  state  with 
a  convoy  of  thirty  canoes  to  the  Mission  at 
Mackinac.  There  in  a  vault  of  the  church  the 
remains  of  Father  Marquette  were  laid  away 
with  funeral  honors;  and  there  priests  and 
traders  venerated  his  memory  and  Indians 
came  to  pray  at  his  tomb. 

And  out  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois,  the 
tribes  to  whom  he  had  made  his  last  pilgrimage 
mourned  the  death  of  their  gentle-spirited 
visitor;  and  the  Peorias,  as  they  went  about 
their  daily  occupations  in  fields  or  lodges,  on 
the  prairies  or  on  the  streams,  often  thought  of 
the  day  in  June  when  the  black-robed  priest 
and  his  French  companion  had  walked  up  the 
little  pathway  and  stood  out  to  meet  them  in 
the  glorious  sunshine  at  their  old  village  on  the 
banks  of  the  Iowa  River. 


VI 


"THE   IROQUOIS  ARE   COMING " 

"The  Iroquois  are  coming!"  It  was  a  cry 
that  shook  the  heart  of  even  the  boldest  among 
the  Illinois  Indians.  Fierce  as  the  northwest 
wind  in  winter,  the  cruel,  bloodthirsty  red  men 
from  the  East  had  spread  terror  in  their  path 
all  along  the  Great  Lakes  and  out  as  far  as 
the  Mississippi.  Down  near  the  mouth  of  the 
Ohio,  Marquette  and  Joliet  on  their  memorable 
voyage  in  1673  had  found  the  Shawnee  living 
in  deadly  fear  of  the  warriors  of  the  Five 
Nations. 

Five  years  had  passed  over  the  lodges  of  the 
Peorias  and  Kaskaskias  since  that  memorable 
summer;  but  fear  still  hung  about  the  villages 
of  the  upper  basin  of  the  Great  Valley.  Three 
years  of  winter  and  summer  hunts,  of  ripening 
corn  and  snow-locked  landscape,  had  come  and 
gone  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois  since  the  black- 
robed  Marquette,  gentle-faced  and  sick  unto 
death,  had  bade  farewell  to  the  young  Kaskas- 
kia  Indians  and  journeyed  off  with  his  two  men 

48 


"THE   IROQUOIS  ARE  COMING" 

along  the  shore  of  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois, 
never  again  to  be  seen  alive  save  by  his  two 
faithful  companions. 

Through  all  these  years  the  Indian  women 
whispered  their  fears  among  themselves  in  the 
lodges;  and  the  men,  as  they  chipped  their 
stone  arrow-heads  or  shaped  their  strong  bows, 
prayed  to  their  manitous  that  if  the  Iroquois 
should  come,  the  stone  tips  might  fly  straight 
and  sure,  lest  their  lodges  be  burned  and  the 
naked,  howling  men  of  the  East  carry  torture 
and  death  among  their  women  and  children. 

The  Iroquois  did  come.  It  was  in  the  year 
1678  that  war  parties  of  these  fierce  tribes  de- 
scended upon  the  valley  of  the  Illinois.  Out  on 
the  wooded  plains  the  allied  tribes  advanced  to 
meet  them ;  while  the  women  and  children  and 
the  old  men  of  the  villages  waited  in  dread  and 
fear  till  runners  came  breathless  to  tell  them  of 
the  repulse  of  the  hated  foe.  This  time  the  vil- 
lages were  saved,  but  fear  did  not  die  out  with 
the  victory.  The  valley  lay  like  an  ancient 
stronghold  whose  defenders  had  fought  the  be- 
siegers away  from  the  walls,  yet  slept  on  their 
arms  in  constant  dread  of  a  still  more  deadly 
attack. 

49 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

In  this  same  year  of  1678,  Allouez,  another 
black-robed  priest,  came  to  settle  among  the 
Indians  of  the  Kaskaskia  village.  He  had  come 
out  to  them  for  a  few  weeks  in  the  spring  of  the 
year  before,  when  eight  of  the  tribes  of  the 
Illinois  Nation  were  gathered  at  the  village  of 
the  Kaskaskias  that  they  might  be  in  constant 
readiness  to  repel  invasions  of  the  Iroquois. 
Now  the  priest  had  come  to  stay,  to  baptize 
their  children,  and  to  teach  them  more  about 
the  strange  manitou  of  whom  Marquette  had 
first  told  them.  A  huge  cross,  twenty-five  feet 
high,  had  been  erected  in  the  middle  of  the 
town,  and  the  Indians  listened  respectfully 
while  he  chanted  the  mass  and  preached  to 
them. 

The  winter  with  its  long  hunting  season  went 
by;  the  river  froze  over  and  thawed  out  again; 
the  time  of  planting  came  once  more;  and  the 
children  again  played  in  the  sun  through  the 
long  hours  of  summer.  So  events  moved  on 
toward  the  strange  happenings  of  the  winter 
that  followed.  In  the  Kaskaskia  village  the 
women  and  girls  had  gathered  the  harvest  of 
Indian  corn  and  had  stowed  it  away  in  caches  or 
pits  dug  in  the  ground,  lined  with  rushes  and 

SO 


"THE   IROQUOIS  ARE  COMING" 

twigs  and  covered  over  for  the  long  winter.  It 
was  a  precious  store,  for  it  must  provide  corn 
for  the  spring  sowing  and  food  until  the  next 
harvest  came  around  again.  Then  as  the  leaves 
dropped  one  by  one  from  the  trees  along  the 
river  and  the  colder  winds  came,  the  whole  vil- 
lage went  of!  for  the  winter  hunt. 

It  was  the  night  before  Christmas  in  1679, 
and  Allouez,  the  black-robed  priest,  still  lin- 
gered in  the  Kaskaskia  village,  thinking,  more 
than  likely,  of  Christmas  Eve  in  his  beloved 
France  far  across  the  ocean,  where  amid  the 
lights  of  a  hundred  candles  priests  were  con- 
ducting midnight  mass.  Or  perchance  he 
thought  of  the  high  rock  of  Quebec  where  a 
frontier  settlement  held  frowning  watch  above 
the  river.  Even  it  was  hundreds  of  leagues 
nearer  civilization  than  he. 

But  hark!  There  was  a  sound  that  brought 
the  priest  out  of  his  reveries  and  back  to  the 
forest  and  rocks  along  the  snow-skirted  river  of 
the  wilderness.  Out  of  the  darkness  came  a 
group  of  Indians  —  young  braves  from  some 
wandering  bands  of  Miamis  and  Mascoutins. 
Well  did  Allouez  know  these  tribes,  for  he  had 
lived  with  them  years  before  in  their  village  near 

5i 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

the  portage  of  the  Fox  River.  Strange  and 
exciting  was  the  news  which  they  brought  him 
this  night.  Alarm  deepened  on  the  priest's 
face  as  he  gathered  his  few  belongings  and 
made  his  way  across  the  snow  and  through  the 
woods  to  the  village  of  the  Miamis  and  Mas- 
coutins. 

The  village  of  the  Kaskaskias,  on  the  north 
shore  of  the  Illinois,  now  lay  silent  and  de- 
serted. The  lonely  lodges  and  the  well-filled 
caches  alone  gave  evidence  that  the  Indians 
would  return.  Many  leagues  down  the  river 
was  the  village  of  the  Peorias.  Here,  too,  the 
young  men  were  off  on  the  winter  hunt;  but  the 
older  men  and  the  women  and  children  were 
still  at  the  village.  With  them  was  Nicanope, 
brother  of  Chassagoac,  and  many  others  of  the 
Kaskaskia  tribe. 

Not  a  hint  of  the  message  that  brought  such 
alarm  to  Allouez  at  the  upper  village  had  come 
to  the  Peorias.  Aside  from  the  ever-present 
dread  of  the  Iroquois,  that  lurked  in  each 
Indian's  mind,  they  lived  as  peacefully  as  the 
hardships  of  winter  would  permit.  Smoke  from 
their  lodges  rose  up  into  the  wintry  sky,  or 
veered  off  to  the  south  and  east  when  the  blasts 

52 


"THE  IROQUOIS  ARE  COMING" 

of  wind  swept  across  the  plains.  The  river  was 
open,  and  by  the  bank  on  either  side  lay- 
pirogues  —  heavy  canoes  fifty  feet  long  and  big 
enough  to  hold  more  than  a  score  of  men. 

Less  than  two  weeks  had  passed  since  Al- 
louez  had  fled  from  the  upper  village.  The  sun 
had  been  up  an  hour  or  more,  and  the  Peoria 
village  was  bustling  with  life.  Warriors  and  old 
men  stalked  here  and  there  in  their  winter  gar- 
ments of  buffalo  hide,  or  sat  smoking  and  gaz- 
ing placidly  upon  river  and  sky.  The  ever  busy 
women  sat  weaving  rush  mats  or  bestirred 
themselves  in  gathering  wood.  Children  played 
about  in  the  open,  and  on  the  sunny  side  of  the 
lodges  zealous  mothers  had  already  set  up  on 
end  the  brown  papooses  bound  like  little  mum- 
mies in  the  cradles. 

Then,  stirring  the  village  as  an  arrow  startles 
a  covey  of  birds,  came  the  wild  cry,  "The  Iro- 
quois." From  behind  a  jutting  point  up  the 
river  swept  a  long  line  of  canoes.  Indescribable 
confusion  followed.  On  both  sides  of  the  river 
men  sprang  for  their  bows  and  arrows;  while 
women,  hardly  pausing  to  seize  their  babes, 
scuttled  away  between  the  lodges  and  on  to  the 
friendly  woods  back  on  the  hill.    With  them 

S3 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

went  the  young  girls  and  children,  fleeing  like 
scared  rabbits. 

Meantime  the  current  of  the  river  bore  the 
canoes  down  to  the  village.  They  turned  to  the 
left,  and  a  tall  figure  leaped  from  the  nearest 
canoe  to  the  bank  and  then  stood  quietly 
watching  the  confusion  of  the  villagers.  Some 
of  the  warriors  fled  to  the  woods  with  the 
women.  Others  with  eager  weapons  were  about 
to  attack  the  newcomers,  when  a  cry  from  one 
of  their  chiefs  on  the  other  shore  made  them 
pause.  He  had  seen  that,  although  the  men 
from  the  canoes,  armed  with  guns  and  ready 
for  war,  could  have  shot  down  a  dozen  Illinois 
in  their  first  confused  scramble  for  weapons, 
they  had  not  fired  a  single  shot.  These  men 
were  evidently  not  Iroquois,  but  Frenchmen 
who  seemed  bent  on  peace  rather  than  battle. 

Quickly  the  calumet  was  raised  by  the  reas- 
sured Peorias,  and  another  was  offered  by  the 
French.  The  canoes  were  drawn  up  to  the 
bank,  and  together  the  white  men  and  the  vil- 
lagers went  to  the  lodges.  Old  men  reappeared 
from  the  woods  and  women  came  out  of  their 
hiding-places.  Children  with  wary  eyes  looked 
up  into  the  faces  of  three  friars,  Fathers  of  the 

54 


"THE   IROOUOIS   ARE    COMING" 

Recollet  Order  with  gray  robes  and  pointed 
cowls,  who  took  them  by  the  hand  and  poured 
out  friendly  but  unintelligible  words. 

In  the  lodges  the  warriors  and  chiefs  —  now 
that  the  fear  of  an  Iroquois  attack  had  subsided 
—  welcomed  the  visitors  with  every  sign  of 
good  will.  They  rubbed  their  feet  with  bear's 
oil  and  the  fat  of  buffalo  and  fed  them  with  the 
best  the  village  had  to  offer.  Then  they  sat 
down  for  a  council  of  peace,  ready  to  hear  the 
message  of  the  white  men.  Chassagoac  was 
away  on  the  hunt,  and  so  his  brother  Nicanope 
was  the  highest  in  rank  of  the  Indian  chiefs  who 
were  present. 

There  were  bold  men  among  the  French  in 
this  council;  and  the  Indians  gazed  with  kind- 
ling eyes  upon  the  tall  figure  of  the  white  chief 
who  had  first  leaped  from  his  canoe,  and  upon 
the  dark  face  of  another  man  who  seemed  to  be 
next  in  command.  This  second  man  had  sat  in 
the  canoe  at  the  farther  end  of  the  line  that  had 
swept  down  to  the  village.  He  was  among  the 
last  to  come  ashore;  but  something  unusual 
and  strangely  awkward  about  his  movements 
caught  the  quick  attention  of  the  Indians.  In 
the  council,  however,  their  eyes  turned  from  the 

55 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

swarthy,  black-haired  lieutenant  to  the  tall 
white  leader  as  he  rose  to  speak. 

Robert  Cavelier,  Sieur  de  La  Salle,  was  a 
man  still  under  middle  age,  but  an  indomitable 
will  and  a  restless  and  unceasing  activity  had 
already  crowded  his  years  with  the  experiences 
of  an  ordinary  lifetime-  No  Indian  could  Jook 
upon  his  cold,  finely  chiseled  features  and  un- 
flinching eyes  without  feeling  the  relentless 
force  of  the  man.  They  listened  with  quiet 
attention  to  his  words. 

He  offered  them  a  present  of  Martinique 
tobacco  and  some  hatchets,  saying  that  first  of 
all  he  wished  to  tell  them  of  a  thing  he  had  done 
and  explain  it  to  them.  A  few  days  before  he 
and  his  men  had  come  to  the  village  of  their 
brother  tribe,  the  Kaskaskias,  many  leagues  up 
the  river.  The  village  was  empty  where  they 
had  hoped  to  find  friendly  Indians  with  food. 
Unable  to  kill  game,  they  were  in  danger  of 
starvation.  They  well  knew  how  precious  was 
the  corn  hidden  in  the  caches  of  the  deserted 
town,  but  in  their  extremity  they  had  borrowed 
some;  and  now  they  wished  to  pay  for  it  in  pres- 
ents or  to  return  it  to  the  Peorias  if  the  Indians 
could  not  spare  it.  At  the  same  time  he  added 

56 


"THE   IROQUOIS  ARE  COMING" 

that  if  they  could  not  let  him  have  food  for  his 
men,  he  would  go  down  the  river  to  their  neigh- 
bors, the  Osages,  and  there  set  up  the  forge 
which  he  had  brought  to  mend  their  knives  and 
hatchets  and  make  them  new  tools  for  the  war- 
path and  the  chase. 

Behind  the  impassive  faces  of  Nicanope, 
Omawha,  and  other  chiefs  were  minds  alive  to  a 
new  situation.  This  man  was  not  a  mere  black 
robe,  come  among  them  to  preach  and  to  baptize 
their  dying;  nor  was  he  a  lone  trader,  a  coureur 
de  bois,  passing  by  in  his  bold  profession  of 
trapping,  hunting,  and  trading  furs.  Here  was  a 
great  chief  with  men  at  his  back,  a  warrior  with 
fire-spitting  guns,  a  trader  with  canoes  full  of 
hatchets  and  knives  and  tobacco  and  a  forge  to 
keep  their  weapons  in  order  and  to  make  them 
new  ones.  Surely  he  was  a  great  and  powerful 
man  who  had  come  into  their  country  this  cold 
winter  day,  and  well  would  it  be  for  the  tribes 
of  the  Illinois  if  he  stayed  among  them. 

But  what  is  this  he  is  saying?  He  speaks  of 
the  Iroquois.  They,  too,  are  subjects  of  the 
King  of  the  French.  Yet  if  the  bold  Iroquois 
should  fall  upon  them,  La  Salle  and  his  follow- 
ers would  be  with  the  Illinois,  would  give  them 

57 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

guns,  and  would  help  them  protect  their  vil- 
lages from  the  onslaughts  of  the  Five  Nations. 
Only  they  must  let  him  build  a  fort  near  their 
village  for  the  protection  of  his  men.  He  wished, 
also,  to  build  a  great  canoe,  big  enough  to  hold 
all  his  men  and  goods,  and  by  means  of  it  to 
travel  down  the  Illinois  to  the  Mississippi  and 
thence  on  its  broad  current  to  where  it  emptied 
into  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  —  so  that  he  might 
bring  back  more  hatchets  and  presents. 

The  Indians  were  overjoyed.  Many  of  the 
Kaskaskias  were  present,  and  among  them  was 
Nicanope,  one  of  their  chiefs.  They  told  La 
Salle  to  keep  the  corn  he  had  taken  at  the  upper 
village,  and  begged  him  to  stay  among  them 
and  set  up  his  forge  and  build  his  fort.  If  he 
wished  to  descend  the  river  that  flowed  through 
the  length  of  the  Great  Valley,  he  would  find 
it  an  easy  waterway  and  the  country  through 
which  it  flowed  a  land  of  beauty  and  plenty. 

Finally  the  conference  broke  up  and  the 
Indians  retired  to  their  own  lodges  in  great 
happiness  of  mind.  Among  them  none  was  hap- 
pier than  Chief  Omawha,  for  La  Salle  had 
shown  him  special  favor  and  had  given  him 
two  hatchets  and  a  number  of  knives. 


VII 

THE   SECRET  COUNCIL 

Night  came  on  cold  and  still.  In  the  river 
the  floating  particles  of  ice  grew  into  a  solid 
sheet  until  the  stream  was  covered  from  shore 
to  shore.  La  Salle,  having  retired  with  his  men 
to  the  quarters  assigned,  set  guards  about  the 
lodges  and  dropped  off  to  sleep.  In  their  own 
long  lodges  the  Indians  rolled  up  in  blankets 
and  dreamed  perchance  of  the  warpath  and  the 
triumphant  return  of  warriors  bearing  the 
scalps  of  the  Iroquois. 

In  the  darkness  off  to  the  northeast  half  a 
dozen  Indians  quietly  filed  along  the  trail 
toward  the  village.  They  were  loaded  down 
with  burdens.  Into  the  village  they  slipped 
stealthily  and  came  to  the  lodge  of  the  chief. 
Soon  furtive  figures  of  Indian  men  were  creep- 
ing from  this  lodge  and  that  until  the  chiefs  and 
warriors  had  gathered  in  a  secret  night  council 
with  the  strangers  from  the  northeast. 

La  Salle  and  his  men  slept  on  in  peace,  while 
Nicanope  and  Omawha  and  their  friends  sat  in 

59 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

a  circle  and  listened  to  the  words  of  the  noc- 
turnal visitors.  Monso,  a  Mascoutin  chief,  was 
the  spokesman,  and  with  him  were  five  or  six 
Miamis.  The  burdens  they  bore  were  kettles 
and  hatchets  and  knives,  as  presents  to  accom- 
pany the  story  they  had  come  so  secretly  to 
tell  to  the  Illinois.  And  this  was  their  message. 
La  Salle  was  a  friend  of  the  Iroquois.  Even  now 
he  was  on  his  way  to  the  enemies  of  the  Illinois 
on  the  Great  River  beyond.  He  would  give 
these  foes  arms  and  ammunition  and  come  back 
with  them  from  the  west  while  the  Iroquois 
closed  in  from  the  east.  Thus,  surrounded  and 
trapped,  the  Illinois  would  meet  their  ruin. 
Their  only  hope  was  to  prevent  La  Salle  from 
going  farther  and  from  joining  their  enemies  on 
the  Mississippi. 

Monso  told  his  message  with  effect;  and  fear 
fell  upon  the  men  of  the  Peoria  village  as  they 
pondered  over  the  warning  which  had  come  to 
them  in  this  weird  night  council.  Beneath  the 
dirt  floor  of  the  lodge  they  buried  the  presents 
which  Monso  had  brought.  The  strangers,  hav- 
ing given  their  disquieting  news,  slipped  out 
into  the  dark  and  disappeared  as  quietly  as 
they  had  come;  while  the  Peoria  men  crept 

60 


THE   SECRET  COUNCIL 

back  to  their  lodges  and  tried  to  forget  the 
alarm  which  Monso  had  brought  into  the 
village. 

At  the  secret  council  in  which  Monso  and 
the  Miamis  told  their  story  there  was  one  who 
did  not  share  the  fear  of  his  fellows;  but  he 
said  nothing.  The  chief  Omawha  sat  quietly 
throughout  the  council  and  passed  out  with  his 
brother  chiefs  without  a  word.  But  in  the  early 
morning  he  came  in  secret  to  La  Salle  and  un- 
folded to  him  the  story  of  the  night. 

As  on  the  face  of  the  river  that  had  frozen 
over  since  the  arrival  of  the  French,  there  had 
come  by  morning  a  change  in  the  mood  of  the 
Illinois  Indians.  Yesterday  they  were  happy 
and  friendly,  full  of  smiles  and  good  words  for 
La  Salle  and  his  dark-skinned  companion  and 
the  score  and  more  of  their  men.  To-day  they 
were  cold  and  suspicious.  They  believed  Monso 
and  feared  —  feared  for  their  homes  and  for  the 
lives  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  of  the 
tribes.  The  dread  of  the  Iroquois  rose  fresh  in 
their  minds  as  they  saw  in  the  powerful  French- 
men the  allies  of  their  enemies.  The  cold  sun 
of  winter  rose  to  its  highest  in  the  sky  and 
started  on  its  journey  down  to  the  west.  Some- 

61 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

thing  must  be  done  and  at  once  or  they  were 
lost. 

Nicanope  sent  word  to  the  lodge  of  La  Salle 
that  he  was  preparing  a  feast  for  him  and  his 
men.  Presently  through  the  streets  of  the 
Indian  town  stalked  the  strange  procession  of 
white  men  on  their  way  to  the  feast.  From  the 
entrance  of  every  lodge  curious  Indians  watched 
the  visitors  pass.  Most  of  them,  perhaps,  fol- 
lowed the  movements  of  La  Salle  —  long  of 
limb  and  steadfast  of  face,  with  keen  eyes,  and 
hair  that  flowed  down  over  his  collar.  But 
many  eyes  strayed  from  him  to  his  dark-faced, 
black-haired  companion,  who  appeared  to  be 
second  in  command  and  whose  right  arm  as  he 
walked  hung  by  his  side  with  a  peculiar  heavi- 
ness. This  man  was  Henry  de  Tonty ;  and  in  all 
the  Western  world  there  beat  no  braver  heart 
than  his.  Nor  did  the  gallant  La  Salle  have 
truer  friend  and  follower  in  the  troublous  days 
that  were  at  hand. 

Besides  these  two  men  there  were  perhaps 
thirty  Frenchmen  —  some  of  them  weather- 
beaten  with  many  years'  experience  in  the 
wilds,  and  some  of  them  young  and  not  long 
arrived  from  distant  France.    Here  also  were 

62 


THE  SECRET  COUNCIL 

three  long-robed  and  sandaled  friars,  not 
gowned  in  black  like  Marquette  and  the  lately 
departed  Allouez,  but  in  gray  gowns  and  hoods. 
One  was  young  and  short  and  vigorous;  one  was 
old,  yet  full  of  spirit.  The  third  walked  with 
a  pompous  tread,  and  a  complacent  pride  sat 
upon  his  round  face. 

Into  the  lodge  where  the  feast  was  to  be  given 
the  white  men  filed  and  seated  themselves  with 
the  chiefs  and  men  of  the  Illinois  tribes.  Less 
than  twenty-four  hours  had  passed  since  the 
midnight  visitors  from  the  Miami  village  had 
told  their  tale  in  low  voices  in  the  same  lodge. 
It  was  not  alone  a  feast  that  was  to  be  cele- 
brated; for  in  the  minds  of  the  Illinois  was  the 
determination  that  these  bold  men  should  be 
stopped  by  some  means  from  going  on  to  incite 
their  Western  enemies.  As  they  looked  upon 
the  two  leaders  and  their  company,  hostile  were 
their  thoughts,  though  their  eyes  did  not  show 
it.  Yes,  La  Salle  and  his  men  must  be  stopped. 
And  so  as  they  squatted  on  mats  on  the  earth- 
en floor  of  the  lodge  and  waited  for  the  feast, 
the  chief  Nicanope  rose  and  began  to  speak. 

He  had  not  brought  the  white  men  there,  he 
said,  so  much  to  feast  their  bodies  as  to  cure 

63 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

them  of  the  strange  madness  which  possessed 
them  of  going  on  down  the  Mississippi.  No  one 
went  there  except  to  his  death.  Terrible  tribes 
who  by  force  of  numbers  could  overwhelm  the 
French  dwelt  along  the  shores.  The  waters  of 
the  river  were  full  of  huge  serpents  and  deadly 
monsters.  Even  if  their  great  canoe  saved  them 
from  these  perils,  the  channel  of  the  river  ran 
over  rapids  and  fell  in  torrents  over  steep  prec- 
ipices, and  finally  shot  down  into  a  great  abyss 
where  it  was  lost  under  the  earth,  and  no  living 
man  knew  where  it  went.  Such  would  be  the 
awful  fate  of  the  French  if  they  pursued  their 
journey  farther. 

The  Peorias  squatted  in  silence  as  they  lis- 
tened to  the  chief's  warning.  Surely  the  white 
men  would  not  venture  into  such  dangers. 
They  watched  the  faces  of  La  Salle  and  his 
followers  for  some  flicker  of  fear.  Upon  the 
countenances  of  La  Salle  and  Tonty  no  shadow 
moved.  Here  and  there  among  their  men  were 
coureurs  de  bois  —  men  who  had  lived  in  the 
Western  country  and  who  understood  the  words 
of  Nicanope.  They  translated  them  in  whispers 
to  their  comrades.  Uneasy  looks  crossed  the 
faces  of  these  less  experienced  adventurers,  and 

64 


THE  SECRET   COUNCIL 

the  keen  eyes  of  the  Peorias  caught  flashes  of 
fear  and  dismay  on  the  face  of  many  a  French 
voyager.  Their  own  hearts  rejoiced  at  these 
signs  of  alarm,  but  their  faces  showed  nothing 
save  calm  unconcern. 

But  in  the  words  of  La  Salle  they  found  little 
comfort  when  in  turn  he  rose  to  reply.  For  the 
kindness  of  Nicanope  in  warning  them,  he 
thanked  him  most  cordially.  But  he  was  not 
daunted.  If  the  dangers  were  great  so  much 
greater  would  be  their  glory.  Frenchmen  were 
happy,  he  said,  to  perish  in  carrying  the  name 
of  their  great  chief  to  the  ends  of  the  earth.  He 
believed  that  the  story  of  deadly  perils  related 
by  Nicanope  was  prompted  either  by  the 
friendly  desire  of  the  Illinois  to  have  the  white 
men  remain  in  their  village  or  else  by  some  evil 
spirit  who  had  whispered  words  of  distrust.  If 
the  Illinois  were  in  truth  friendly  to  him,  let 
them  tell  him  frankly  of  the  things  which  dis- 
turbed them.  Otherwise  he  must  believe  that 
the  friendship  they  had  first  shown  came  only 
from  their  lips. 

Nicanope,  discouraged  at  the  failure  of  his 
ruse,  made  no  reply,  but  presented  his  guests 
with  food.  When  they  had  eaten  sagamite  and 

65 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

venison  and  buffalo  meat  in  silence,  La  Salle 
once  more  rose  and  continued  his  speech.  He 
was  not  surprised  to  find  the  other  tribes 
jealous  of  the  advantages  about  to  be  enjoyed 
by  the  Illinois  from  their  relations  with  the 
French,  nor  was  he  surprised  that  the  other 
tribes  should  start  false  rumors ;  but  he  was  as- 
tonished that  the  Illinois  should  believe  those 
tales  and  hide  them  from  him  who  had  been  so 
frank.  Then  he  turned  and  directed  his  words 
to  the  astounded  Nicanope:  — 

"I  was  not  asleep,  my  brother,  when  Monso 
last  night  in  secret  told  his  tales  against  the 
French  and  said  that  I  was  a  spy  of  the  Iro- 
quois. Under  this  very  lodge  the  presents  with 
which  he  tried  to  persuade  you  of  the  truth  of 
his  story  are  still  buried.  Why  did  he  take  his 
flight  so  quickly?  Why  did  he  not  speak  to  you 
by  daylight  if  he  spoke  the  truth?" 

The  Illinois  sat  silent,  but  with  agitated 
minds.  Amazement  and  awe  filled  their  wary 
eyes.  What  manner  of  man  was  this  who, 
though  asleep  in  his  lodge,  divined  the  hidden 
secrets  of  their  midnight  council?  What  great 
medicine  gave  him  power  over  the  things  of  the 
night  as  well  as  the  day?  Could  he  read  their 

66 


THE   SECRET   COUNCIL 

thoughts  ?  The  ringing  voice  of  the  white  man 
continued :  — 

"Do  you  not  know  that,  had  I  wished,  in 
your  confusion  at  my  arrival,  I  could  have 
killed  you  all?  What  need  had  I  of  Iroquois 
allies  ?  Could  I  not  this  very  hour  with  my  sol- 
diers slaughter  all  your  chiefs  and  old  men  while 
your  young  men  are  off  on  the  hunt  ?  Look  at 
our  burdens.  Are  they  not  tools  and  merchan- 
dise for  your  benefit  rather  than  weapons  with 
which  to  attack  you?  Run  after  this  liar 
Monso.  Bring  him  back  and  let  him  face  me 
whom  he  has  never  seen,  yet  whose  plans  he 
pretends  to  know." 

There  was  a  short  pause.  Nicanope  had  no 
word  to  say.  Monso  was  gone  and  a  snow  had 
fallen  upon  his  tracks.  They  could  not  trace 
him  and  bring  him  back.  Their  plans  had 
failed.  The  leader  of  the  French  was  to  them 
now  a  man  of  wonder  as  well  as  fear.  Only 
Omawha  of  all  the  Illinois  understood,  but  he 
said  not  a  word.  Red  men  and  white  passed  out 
from  the  feast  and  returned  to  their  lodges. 
The  wooded  hills  across  the  frozen  river  swal- 
lowed the  winter  sun  and  early  twilight  closed 
down  upon  the  white  landscape. 

67 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

By  the  lodges  given  up  to  the  Frenchmen, 
La  Salle  set  a  guard,  and  then  lay  down  to  sleep. 
Tonty,  after  a  last  look  at  the  village,  turned  in 
among  the  robes.  In  the  other  lodges,  stretched 
upon  mats  and  wrapped  in  buffalo  skins,  Indian 
men  lay  sleeping  or  thinking  of  the  strange  hap- 
penings of  the  night  and  day  that  were  gone.  If 
any  had  watched,  as  mayhap  they  did,  they 
would  have  seen  a  second  nightly  gathering  — 
this  time  in  the  shadows  of  the  Frenchmen's 
lodges.  Six  figures  stealthily  exchanged  words 
and  signs ;  and  then  without  noise  crept  past  the 
farthest  lodge  and  out  across  the  snow  toward 
the  village  of  the  Miamis  whence  Monso  had 
come.  They  were  some  of  those  Frenchmen 
upon  whose  faces  the  observant  Indians  had 
seen  signs  of  fear  at  the  words  of  Nicanope. 

An  hour  went  by,  when  a  new  light  began  to 
touch  the  sky  and  the  woods.  Out  from  the 
lodge  of  La  Salle  the  tall  figure  of  the  leader 
stepped  into  the  cold  morning  air.  He  looked 
about  in  surprise.  Not  one  of  his  men  was  to  be 
seen  on  guard.  With  quick,  fierce  stride  he  vis- 
ited one  after  another  of  the  lodges.  In  one  of 
them  he  found  only  a  single  Frenchman,  whose 
companions  had  not  taken  him  into  their  plot. 

68 


THE  SECRET  COUNCIL 

Tonty,  awaking,  found  his  leader  beside  him 
with  serious  news  upon  his  lips.  Six  of  their 
men  —  cowards  and  knaves  —  had  preferred 
the  dangers  of  exposure  and  starvation  to  the 
dangers  which  Nicanope  had  described.  They 
had  taken  advantage  of  their  position  as  guards 
to  desert  their  leader  in  the  hope  of  reach- 
ing the  village  from  which  Monso  had  come. 


VIII 

THE  FORT  CALLED  CREVECCEUR 

For  ten  days  the  air  was  snapping  with  cold, 
and  the  river  beside  the  Peoria  village  remained 
frozen.  In  the  hearts  of  the  Peorias  lingered  the 
chill  of  fear,  for  in  spite  of  his  denunciation  of 
Monso  they  could  not  banish  their  doubts  of  the 
French  chief;  and  the  dreaded  Iroquois  inva- 
sion, which  had  haunted  them  for  years,  was 
Very  present  in  their  thoughts  as  the  French- 
men passed  among  them. 

When  Indians  once  see  fear  betrayed  in  pub- 
lic, they  never  forget;  and  now  for  some  of  La 
Salle's  men  the  Peorias  had  only  contempt,  for 
not  all  of  those  who  had  shown  fear  at  the  words 
of  Nicanope  had  fled  to  the  woods.  Others  of 
the  French,  such  as  Ako,  the  coureur  de  boisy 
were  of  a  different  breed.  Bold,  strong,  experi- 
enced in  woodcraft  by  many  years  in  the  wilds, 
they  commanded  at  least  consideration  from  the 
Indian  warriors. 

As  for  the  three  gray-robed  friars,  they  did  no 
harm  and  there  was  a  curious  mystery  about 

70 


THE  FORT  CALLED  CREVECCEUR 

their  ceremonies  that  pleased  the  Indians'  child- 
like hearts.  One  of  these  friars — Father  Henne- 
pin —  looked  far  more  like  a  man  who  loved  the 
world  and  the  joys  of  life.  He  strutted  about 
the  village  with  all  priestly  meekness  smothered 
by  his  interest  in  his  surroundings.  Very  con- 
scious was  he  of  his  own  greatness,  and  well 
satisfied  that  without  him  the  little  band  of 
French  would  be  in  sore  straits. 

It  was  with  different  feelings  that  the  Peorias 
looked  upon  La  Salle  and  Tonty.  They  feared 
them  greatly  and  still  retained  their  suspicions, 
but  with  their  fear  and  suspicion  there  was  also 
respect  and  awe.  They  recognized  in  them 
the  qualities  an  Indian  loves — strength,  utter 
fearlessness,  and  a  determination  that  breaks 
down  all  obstacles.  About  each  of  these  men 
there  was  mystery  which  baffled  the  wits  of 
the  Indians  and  excited  their  interest  even 
more  than  did  the  medicine  men  of  their  own 
tribes. 

Of  the  past  of  these  two  remarkable  men  the 
Indians  knew  nothing;  they  could  not  read  the 
tale  of  danger  and  hardship  that  had  marked 
the  years  of  La  Salle,  or  the  story  of  the  pitfalls 
and  snares  laid  by  his  enemies  for  his  destruc- 

71 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

tion.  They  could  not  know  that  at  Fort  Fronte- 
nac,  when  La  Salle  was  on  his  way  to  their 
country,  one  of  his  men  had  put  poison  in  his 
food.  Nor  did  they  know  of  the  incident  at  the 
Miami  portage,  where  one  of  his  followers, 
walking  behind,  had  raised  his  gun  to  shoot  his 
leader  in  the  back  and  was  prevented  only  by 
the  quick  arm  of  a  comrade.  They  knew  that 
six  of  the  men  had  deserted  and  gone  off  into 
the  woods,  but  they  did  not  know  that  on  that 
same  day  in  their  own  village  another  of  his 
treacherous  knaves  had  again  tried  to  poison 
him. 

They  knew  nothing  of  the  early  experiences 
of  Henry  de  Tonty,  of  the  seas  he  had  sailed 
and  the  fights  he  had  fought  by  land  and  water 
in  the  service  of  the  King  of  France.  Nor  did 
they  yet  know  the  faith  with  which  he  served 
his  leader  and  friend  La  Salle.  But  a  sure  in- 
stinct told  the  red  men  that  here  were  two  men 
whom  they  would  love  as  friends  or  fear  as 
enemies. 

One  chill  day  followed  another.  Most  of  the 
young  men  were  still  off  on  the  hunt  and  war- 
path. Those  who  remained  at  home  mended 
their  weapons,  smoked,  and  idly  watched  the 

72 


THE  FORT  CALLED  CREVECCEUR 

women  at  work  on  mats  and  robes  —  but  never 
for  a  moment  let  go  the  thought  or  sight  of  the 
white  strangers  in  their  midst. 

In  the  middle  of  January  the  ice  melted,  the 
air  dropped  its  sting,  and  the  friendly  earth 
appeared  from  beneath  the  snow.  La  Salle  and 
the  friar  Hennepin  stepped  into  a  canoe  and 
paddled  down  the  river  to  a  point  half  a  league 
below  the  village.  Soon  Tonty  and  the  rest  of 
the  band  joined  them.  On  the  left-hand  side  of 
the  river,  two  hundred  paces  from  the  edge  of 
the  water,  rose  a  small  hill.  In  front  of  it  there 
was  a  stretch  of  low  swampy  ground,  and  on 
either  side  were  deep  ravines. 

The  inquisitive  Indians  who  slipped  along  the 
shore  to  watch  the  movements  of  the  white  men 
saw  them  at  work  digging  a  ditch  behind  the  hill 
to  connect  the  two  ravines.  Around  the  edge  of 
the  hill  a  line  of  earth  was  thrown  up,  making  a 
wall  which  sloped  down  into  ditch  and  ravine 
and  marsh.  Then  a  palisade  of  logs  was  erected 
twenty  feet  high.  Inside  this  stockade  in  two 
corners  the  busy  Frenchmen  built  lodgings  for 
themselves,  a  cabin  for  the  three  friars  in  the 
third  corner,  and  a  storehouse  in  the  fourth. 
Along  the  rear  wall  the  forge  was  set  up,  and  in 

73 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

the  very  midst  of  the  inclosure  were  the  quar- 
ters of  La  Salle  and  Tonty.  To  this  stronghold 
beside  the  Illinois  River,  La  Salle  gave  the  name 
of  Fort  Crevecceur. 

Another  work  that  astonished  the  Indians 
still  more  went  on  at  the  bank  of  the  river. 
Here  the  men  felled  great  trees,  hewed  them 
into  timbers,  sawed  planks,  and  began  to  build 
a  mighty  canoe  such  as  the  men  of  the  tribe  had 
never  seen.  With  a  forty-foot  keel  and  a  twelve- 
foot  beam,  no  Peoria  could  doubt  that  it  would 
make  its  way  safely  down  the  Great  River  that 
ran  through  the  land  of  their  enemies. 

Many  times  did  the  Indians  wonder  in  their 
hearts  whether  or  not  the  French  chief  believed 
in  the  tales  of  terror  that  Nicanope  had  spoken. 
They  saw  him  little  at  the  village  now,  for  he 
and  his  men  had  moved  down  to  the  new  Fort 
Crevecceur;  but  there  was  never  a  time  when 
Indian  figures,  none  too  busy  at  home,  did  not 
peer  through  the  bushes  or  sit  boldly  by,  fascin- 
ated by  the  busy  doings  at  the  fort  and  primi- 
tive shipyard. 

Far  to  the  south,  meanwhile,  a  band  of  the 
young  men  were  on  their  way  home  from  the 
warpath.  Many  leagues  ahead  of  them  hurried 

74 


THE  FORT  CALLED  CREVECCEUR 

one  of  the  band,  a  young  warrior  sent  on  to  tell 
the  village  of  their  approach.  Over  the  plains 
and  through  tangled  woods  he  plodded  on  weary- 
feet.  He  was  less  than  three  leagues  from  the 
village  now,  but  he  was  tired  and  very  hungry. 
As  he  trudged  along,  he  came  upon  a  figure 
somewhat  strange  to  his  eyes.  But  he  had  seen 
the  traders  who  came  now  and  then  down  the 
rivers  from  Canada  and  he  knew  this  man  for  a 
Frenchman.  He  saw,  what  was  more  pleasing 
to  his  needs,  that  the  stranger  carried  four  wild 
turkeys.  Far  spent  with  hunger,  he  called  to 
him  and  asked  for  food. 

The  white  man  handed  him  one  of  the  wild 
turkeys.  With  eager  hands  the  Indian  lighted  a 
fire,  swung  over  it  a  kettle  which  he  carried  with 
him  and  proceeded  to  cook  the  fowl.  While  the 
fire  licked  the  sides  of  the  kettle  the  strange 
white  man  asked  him  of  his  journey  and  in- 
quired about  the  Great  River  that  ran  through 
the  countries  of  the  South.  The  young  warrior 
picked  up  from  the  fire  a  charred  bit  of  wood 
and  with  it  drew,  on  a  piece  of  bark,  a  careful 
diagram  which  showed  the  course  of  the  river 
and  the  streams  that  fell  into  it.  Then  he  gave 
the  names  of  these  streams  and  told  of  the 

75 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

tribes  that  dwelt  along  them,  and  the  white 
man  wrote  them  down  in  his  own  language  on 
the  bark. 

Everywhere  along  the  Mississippi  the  young 
Indian  had  traveled  in  a  pirogue,  and  never  was 
there  a  fall  or  rapids  to  obstruct  his  way.  Not 
even  were  there  sandbars,  save  near  the  mouth 
in  the  heat  of  summer-time.  The  two  men 
talked  of  these  things  for  some  time,  while  the 
Indian  rested  and  appeased  his  hunger.  Finally 
the  Frenchman  gave  to  the  red  man  a  hatchet 
and  asked  him  to  say  to  no  one  that  he  had  met 
him.  With  his  lips  thus  sealed  by  the  white 
man's  gift  and  his  stomach  made  glad  by  the 
white  man's  game,  the  young  Indian  turned 
aside  and  accompanied  his  new  friend  with 
some  awe  to  the  newly  built  fort,  instead  of 
passing  on  to  the  village. 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  next  day,  in  the 
village  of  the  Peorias,  a  group  of  Indians  were 
gathered  in  the  lodge  of  one  of  the  chiefs. 
They  were  feasting  in  great  joy  upon  the  meat 
of  a  bear  —  a  delicacy  much  prized  among 
them.  Suddenly  a  form  darkened  the  entrance 
to  the  lodge  and  La  Salle  strode  in  among  the 
squatted  Indians.  He  paused  in  their  midst  and 

76 


THE  FORT  CALLED  CREVECCEUR 

looked  about  before  he  spoke.   A  smile  of  tri- 
umph was  on  his  lips. 

"Perhaps  you  do  not  know,"  he  said,  "that 
the  Maker  of  all  things  takes  especial  care  of 
the  French.  In  answer  to  my  prayers  he  has 
revealed  to  me  the  truth  concerning  the  Great 
River,  which  your  frightful  tales  prevented  me 
from  learning." 

Then  he  went  on  to  tell  the  astounded  In- 
dians of  all  the  windings  of  the  Mississippi,  of 
the  smooth  current  upon  which  a  canoe  might 
ride  to  its  mouth'.  He  described  each  river  that 
entered  it  from  the  east  and  from  the  west,  and 
named  each  tribe  that  dwelt  on  its  borders. 
Nowhere  was  there  fall  or  rapids  to  obstruct 
one's  way,  and  only  where  the  river  broadened 
out  at  the  mouth  were  there  shallows  and  sand 
and  mud-bars.  Each  twist  and  turn,  each  rocky 
cliff  and  entering  stream  he  seemed  to  know  as 
if  he  had  spent  months  in  paddling  up  and 
down  the  river  in  an  Indian  pirogue. 

The  bear  meat  was  forgotten.  The  Indians 
sat  silent,  their  hands  clapped  to  their  mouths 
in  amazement.  What  great  power  or  "medi- 
cine" did  this  man  possess  that  enabled  him  to 
watch  what  occurred  in  secret  nightly  councils, 

77 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

and  to  see  and  describe  hundreds  of  leagues  of 
the  course  and  valley  of  the  Great  River  he  had 
never  visited  ?  Like  children  caught  in  mischief, 
they  confessed  that  all  he  said  was  true  and 
that  they  had  deceived  him  only  to  keep  him  in 
their  midst. 

La  Salle  departed  from  the  lodge,  leaving 
them  with  troubled  minds.  How  strange  and 
wonderful  were  these  men  of  fair  faces  and 
flowing  hair.  And  what  did  their  presence  bode 
for  the  Indian  ?  Were  they  their  friends,  or  were 
they  at  heart  friends  of  the  Iroquois?  Who 
knew  how  near  to  their  villages  were  bands  of 
painted  warriors  of  the  Five  Nations?  Yet, 
though  suspicion  lay  heavy  upon  their  hearts, 
they  looked  with  covetous  eyes  upon  the 
hatchets  and  knives,  the  kettles  and  weapons 
that  the  white  men  brought. 


IX 

THE  WHITE   INVASION 

Not  a  day  passed  but  the  Illinois  followed 
with  inquisitive  eyes  the  movements  of  the  men 
at  the  fort.  They  watched  the  great  white 
beams  by  the  river  bank  as  the  Frenchmen  laid 
them  out  and  fastened  them  together  till  the 
growing  ship  began  to  look  like  the  white  skele- 
ton of  an  immense  buffalo  lying  bleached  and 
bare  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven. 

Omawha,  the  friendly  chief,  adopted  as  a  son 
the  short  young  friar  of  La  Salle's  party;  and  so 
the  gray  robe  of  Father  Membre  passed  freely 
in  and  out  of  the  lodges  of  the  village.  Like  one 
of  the  chief's  family,  he  ate  of  the  Indian  fare 
and  slept  on  buffalo  robes  beside  smouldering 
lodge-fires.  His  fellow-whites  were  at  the  new 
fort;  and  he  alone  watched  the  coming  of  spring 
in  the  Indian  town. 

As  winter  began  to  break  up,  the  hunting 
parties  came  home.  The  war  party  from  the 
South  brought  captives  with  them,  and  the  vil- 
lage became  more  populous.   But  Chassagoac, 

79 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

the  indefatigable  hunter,  was  still  off  in  the 
woods. 

Even  in  the  long  stretches  of  the  Indian 
country,  winterlocked  and  drear,  news  traveled 
fast;  and  the  Illinois  well  knew  that  runners 
were  carrying  all  up  and  down  the  Great  Valley 
tales  of  the  white  men  among  the  Peorias,  of  the 
fort  on  the  hill,  and  of  the  ship  that  was  to  sail 
down  the  long  river.  It  was,  therefore,  with 
concern  that  the  Peorias  saw  one  day  a  gather- 
ing of  Indians  encamped  about  the  fort.  They 
were  Osages  and  Chickasaws  and  Arkansas  — 
tribes  that  lived  along  the  Mississippi  far  to  the 
south.  And  the  villagers  knew  that  they  — 
jealous  of  the  advantages  of  the  Illinois  — 
would  tell  the  white  chief  of  the  easy  navigation 
of  the  river  and  urge  him  to  come  down  and  live 
in  their  country. 

Not  many  days  passed  before  another  group 
of  Indians  arrived,  this  time  from  the  Far  West 
—  so  far  beyond  the  Mississippi  River  that  they 
told  of  long-haired  Spaniards  who  rode  to  war 
on  horses  and  fought  with  lances.  One  of  the 
Indians  proudly  wore  at  his  belt  a  tobacco 
pouch  made  from  the  hoof  of  a  horse  with 
some  of  the  skin  of  the  leg  attached.  A  week 

80 


THE  WHITE  INVASION 

later  came  still  another  delegation  to  see  the 
far-famed  whites.  They  were  Sioux  from  the 
distant  Northwest,  in  the  land  where  the  Miss- 
issippi took  its  rise;  and  they  were  long-time 
foes  of  the  tribes  of  the  Illinois. 

In  the  councils  of  the  Illinois  Indians  there 
was  much  debate.  Each  chief  had  his  own 
opinion.  It  was  a  time  of  new  and  strange  hap- 
penings. Long  had  the  Illinois  tribe  lived  proud 
and  comfortable  in  the  valley.  They  had 
hunted  and  fished  up  and  down  the  rivers  at 
their  will.  In  the  open  spaces  before  their  ar- 
bor-like lodges  they  gambled  and  smoked  and 
basked  in  the  summer  days,  the  bright  sun 
warming  their  naked  bodies.  And  when  they 
were  tired  of  basking,  they  put  on  their  gar- 
ments of  red  and  black  paint,  gathered  howling 
in  the  war  dance,  and  set  out  on  a  raid  against 
the  Sacs  and  Foxes  west  of  the  Lake  of  the 
Illinois,  or  the  Sioux  by  the  head-waters  of 
the  Mississippi,  or  the  Osages  and  Arkansas 
and  other  tribes  on  its  southern  banks.  Often, 
too,  war  came  to  them,  and  sometimes  so  des- 
perate that  even  the  Indian  women  fought 
hand  to  hand  with  the  enemy  in  the  spaces 
between  the  lodges  of  the  village. 

81 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

But  of  late  years  had  come  new  dangers. 
Faint  whisperings  reached  them  of  white-faced 
men  who  brought  from  across  the  sea  weapons 
that  roared  like  the  thunder  and  smote  their 
victims  like  bolts  of  lightning.  Their  ancient 
enemies,  the  Iroquois,  bought  these  weapons 
with  furs  and  carried  their  ravages  upon  the 
Western  tribes  with  increased  deadliness.  Then 
they  learned  that  the  white  men  themselves 
were  beginning  to  appear  on  the  Great  Lakes  — 
first  at  the  eastern  end,  but  finally  on  the  shores 
of  Lake  Superior  and  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois. 

By  and  by  there  pushed  out  from  the  Lakes 
into  the  valleys  of  the  Wisconsin  and  the 
Illinois,  and  even  as  far  as  the  Upper  Missis- 
sippi, the  black-robed  priest  and  the  lone  fur 
trader.  Restless  coureurs  de  bois  floated  down 
the  rivers  in  greater  numbers.  They  set  up 
cabins  and  wintered  in  the  lands  which  once  the 
Indians  alone  knew.  Priests,  having  come  to 
visit,  came  again  to  stay.  Soldiers  and  explorers 
pierced  the  far  wilderness.  Strange  canoes  shot 
up  and  down  the  waters.  The  ringing  of  axes 
sounded  in  the  woods,  and  forts  sprang  up. 
These  new  bold  habitants  brought  hatchets 
that  put  the  old  stone  clubs  to  shame,  kettles 

82 


THE  WHITE  INVASION 

such  as  the  Indians  had  never  dreamed  of, 
knives  with  a  deadly  edge,  blankets  of  bright 
color  and  fine  texture  —  and  the  childlike  heart 
of  the  Indian  was  made  glad. 

A  new  force  had  come  upon  the  land  and  the 
end  of  the  old  days  was  at  hand.  No  Indian 
fully  realized  it.  The  novelty  of  the  white 
man's  ways  and  the  charm  of  his  gifts  shortened 
their  vision,  and  so  they  lived  each  in  the  event- 
ful present.  But  as  surely  as  the  river  flowed 
down  to  the  sea,  the  Great  Valley  was  passing 
out  of  their  grasp.  The  wide  reaches  of  meadow, 
the  leagues  of  hill  and  plain,  the  waters  that  ran 
past  a  thousand  hills,  virgin  forest  for  their 
game,  live  soil  for  their  corn,  all  the  freedom 
and  bounty  of  the  greatest  valley  in  tr#  world 
had  been  theirs  —  a  valley  to  roam  over  at  will, 
to  hunt  in  with  the  changing  seasons,  to  fight 
for  in  the  glory  of  battle  among  themselves. 

The  red  men  did  not  know  that  things  were 
really  going  to  be  different,  for  they  were  not 
wise  in  prophecy.  But  they  were  restless  in 
mind  and  they  felt  some  of  the  dangers  of  the 
present;  for  like  children  they  feared  a  power 
they  could  not  understand. 

Among  the  Illinois  tribes  this  vague  fear  rose 

83 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

and  then  died  out  in  the  more  placid  courses  of 
their  lives.  Then  lurking  suspicion  seized  upon 
some  event  and  all  was  alarm  again.  So  it  was 
with  other  tribes,  for  fierce  courage  and  abject 
terror  alternated  in  the  Indian  mind. 

Over  on  the  shores  of  the  Fox  River  and 
about  the  foot  of  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois  lived 
the  nation  of  Miamis.  They  were  relatives  of 
the  Illinois  tribes  as  well  as  neighbors,  and  their 
language  was  much  the  same.  The  fear  of  the 
Iroquois,  armed  with  white  men's  weapons,  had 
seized  such  firm  hold  upon  them  that  once  they 
migrated  to  the  Mississippi.  But  in  a  time  of 
peace  they  had  wandered  back  to  their  former 
homes.  Now  and  then  trouble  arose  between 
Miami  and  Illinois,  and  for  years  they  waged 
war  upon  each  other. 

The  secret  embassy  of  Monso  with  his 
Miami  followers  left  the  Illinois  uneasy.  How 
did  the  Miamis  know  so  much  about  the  Iro- 
quois? If  the  Iroquois  came,  would  the 
Miamis  join  them  against  the  people  of  the 
Illinois?  And  what  would  La  Salle  and  Tonty 
and  the  men  at  the  fort  do  ?  Round  and  round 
went  question  and  answer  as  the  spring  came 
on.    Soon  would  Chassagoac,  their  greatest 

84 


THE  WHITE  INVASION 

chief,  be  back  with  his  hunters.  Perhaps  his 
wisdom  might  help  them. 

In  the  meantime  they  went  about  their  du- 
ties and  pleasures  in  the  village.  The  end  of 
February,  1680,  came,  and  on  the  last  day  of 
the  month  they  saw  a  great  stirring  —  an  un- 
usual bustling  about  and  strutting  up  and  down 
on  the  part  of  the  gray-robed  Hennepin.  Finally 
he  planted  his  figure  solidly  in  a  canoe  laden 
with  skins  and  weapons  and  knives  and  kettles. 
The  veteran  woodsman,  Michael  Ako,  was  with 
him  and  Antoine  Auguel  —  called  the  Picard 
by  his  comrades  because  he  came  from  Picardy 
in  France.  Bidding  good-bye  to  those  on  the 
bank,  the  three  men  slipped  swiftly  down  the 
current  and  out  of  sight.  What  new  move  was 
this? 

The  Indians  wondered  until  the  next  day 
when  the  village  welcomed  the  return  of  one  of 
its  hunting  parties,  just  arrived  from  down  the 
river.  They  had  passed  Ako  and  his  fellows 
about  sundown  the  night  before  and  tried  to 
persuade  them  to  return.  But  no,  they  were 
bound  for  the  land  of  the  Sioux,  where  Ako 
meant  to  trade  in  furs  and  learn  of  the  country; 
and  the  affable  friar  pronounced  himself  bound 

85 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

to  undertake  the  great  perils  of  an  unknown 
land  to  preach  to  the  Indians  of  the  Upper 
Mississippi.  So  the  red  hunters  let  them  pass 
—  the  boastful  friar  and  his  two  companions. 
Little  did  the  three  know  what  experiences 
were  to  befall  them  before  they  saw  again  the 
lights  of  white  men's  cabins. 

On  the  day  that  the  hunters  returned,  those 
who  watched  the  fort  saw  two  other  canoes  set 
out,  this  time  going  up  the  river.  Here  was  a 
still  more  important  event,  for  in  one  of  the 
boats  was  the  figure  of  La  Salle  himself.  Six 
Frenchmen  were  with  him,  and  also  a  Mohe- 
gan  warrior  whom  they  called  the  Wolf,  from 
the  name  of  his  people.  The  Indians  waited 
in  wonderment.  Was  the  fort  being  deserted  ? 
Not  yet,  for  the  mysterious  Tonty,  his  arm 
swinging  heavily  at  his  side,  passed  about 
among  the  men  at  the  fort  giving  orders  in  the 
absence  of  his  chief. 


X 

THE  MYSTERIOUS   HAND 

The  Indians  of  the  Peoria  village  were  inter- 
ested spectators  of  the  events  which  were  being 
acted  out  by  the  band  of  Frenchmen.  Father 
Membre  lived  in  their  town  and  they  gave  him 
respectful  attention.  Among  themselves  they 
talked  much  of  his  white  friends  within  the 
stockaded  walls  of  the  fort.  There  were 
scarcely  a  dozen  men  with  Tonty  now,  and 
upon  them  the  Indians  looked  with  a  mixture 
of  curiosity,  contempt,  and  awe.  Among  them 
there  were  ship  carpenters  and  soldiers,  on  some 
of  whose  faces  rascality  and  cowardice  were 
written.  Had  the  Peorias  not  seen  them  ner- 
vous with  fear  while  Nicanope  told  them  of  the 
imaginary  terrors  of  the  river,  and  at  a  public 
council,  too,  —  what  could  more  clearly  stamp 
the  coward? 

The  old  friar  Ribourde  shuffled  about  in  his 
gray  gown  and  bare  sandaled  feet,  saying  mass 
among  the  Frenchmen  as  Membre  did  among 
the  Peorias.  The  strong-armed  man,  Le  Meil- 

87 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

leur,  whom  his  comrade  called  La  Forge,  swung 
the  hammer  on  the  red-hot  iron  and  mended  the 
tools  of  the  French  at  the  precious  forge.  Down 
by  the  river,  Moyse  Hillaret  and  La  Roze  and 
the  other  shipbuilders  and  carpenters  laid  out 
and  joined  together  the  ribs  of  the  huge  wooden 
skeleton.  Among  these  brawny  men  was  a 
muscular  young  lad  from  Paris  named  Renault, 
L'Esperance,  a  brave-hearted  young  servant  of 
La  Salle,  and  Boisrondet,  a  man  of  higher  birth 
than  the  rest  and  a  special  friend  of  Tonty. 
But  it  was  not  of  these  men  that  the  Peorias 
talked  most  to  the  bands  of  hunters  and  war- 
riors returning  now  to  the  village  —  it  was  of 
La  Salle,  the  white  chief,  who  had  left  the 
fort,  and  of  Tonty,  the  man  of  mystery,  who 
remained  in  charge  of  the  garrison. 

The  Indians  could  not  understand  the  curi- 
ous commander  of  the  fort.  Why  was  his  skin 
darker  than  that  of  his  comrades  and  his  hair 
so  black  —  like  the  hair  of  their  own  Indian 
women,  though  not  so  straight?  But  most  of  all 
they  wondered  at  the  queer  way  in  which  he 
used  his  right  hand.  They  told  the  newly 
arrived  Indians  of  the  day  the  white  men  came 
to  the  village.  At  the  feast  of  welcome  Tonty 

88 


THE  MYSTERIOUS   HAND 

had  used  his  left  hand  always  as  he  ate 
of  their  sagamite  and  meat,  and  now  they 
watched  him  as  he  passed  here  and  there  among 
his  men.  If  he  pulled  a  canoe  up  on  shore  or 
grasped  a  piece  of  timber  down  at  the  shipyard 
it  was  never  with  his  right  hand.  Yet  they  had 
seen  him  deal  blows  with  that  mysterious  right 
hand  which  had  the  effect  of  an  Indian  war 
club.  With  what  strange  "medicine"  his  pow- 
erful arm  was  gifted  they  could  not  tell ;  and  it 
was  partly  for  that  reason  that  they  feared  him. 
Often,  in  the  adventurous  years  that  followed, 
red-skinned  warriors  in  many  parts  of  the  Great 
Valley  were  startled  and  awed  by  the  ease  with 
which  this  man  could  by  one  heavy  swing  of  his 
right  hand  break  the  teeth  or  crack  the  skull  of 
an  unruly  Indian. 

If  the  Peorias  could  have  looked  off  into  lands 
they  had  never  seen  and  read  the  events  of  other 
times  and  places,  as  it  now  seemed  to  them  that 
La  Salle  could  do,  they  might  have  found  the 
explanation  of  the  mystery.  Not  many  years 
before  the  white  men  came  to  the  Peoria  vil- 
lage, the  little  island  of  Sicily,  in  the  far-away 
Mediterranean  Sea,  was  in  the  throes  of  a  bitter 
war.  Along  its  coast  grim-mouthed  ships  of  war 

89 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

and  galleys,  propelled  by  the  oars  of  convicts 
and  captives,  bore  the  flags  of  three  nations  — 
France,  Holland,  and  Spain. 

In  one  of  the  battles  the  figure  of  Henry 
de  Tonty  might  have  been  seen  fighting  under 
the  flag  of  France.  For  many  years  he  had  so 
fought — four  campaigns  on  ships  of  war  and 
three  on  galleys  —  and  had  gained  high  rank 
in  the  service.  But  he  was  not  of  French  birth. 
His  father  had  come  to  Paris  as  an  exile  from 
Naples  in  the  sunny  land  of  Italy  after  taking 
a  prominent  part  in  the  Neapolitan  Revolt  of 
1647.  Sicily  like  Naples  had  long  been  under 
the  hated  rule  of  Spain,  and  now  the  Sicilians 
rising  in  revolt  had  called  upon  the  French  for 
help.  The  Spaniards,  hard  pressed,  called  a 
Dutch  fleet  in  to  aid  them.  So  the  war  was 
waged,  now  on  sea,  now  on  land;  and  Tonty,  in 
the  thick  of  the  battle,  rejoiced  in  a  struggle 
to  free  men  of'  his  father's  country  from  the 
Spanish  yoke. 

The  cannon  flashed  and  roared.  Men  fell  all 
about  him.  A  hand  grenade,  thrown  by  the 
enemy,  burst  near  by  into  a  thousand  pieces 
and  tore  away  the  right  hand  of  Henry  de 
Tonty.   He  was  captured  by  the  enemy  and 

90 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  HAND 

held  prisoner  for  six  months.  Then  he  was 
released  in  exchange  for  the  governor's  son.  In 
place  of  his  lost  member  he  substituted  a  hand 
of  metal  which  he  wore  encased  in  a  glove.  But 
now  peace  had  settled  upon  the  Mediterranean, 
and  the  restless  Tonty  joined  La  Salle  and  came 
across  the  sea  to  where  the  land  was  young  and 
adventure  lay  in  every  river  valley. 

In  time  the  Indians  learned  the  story  of  his 
"medicine"  arm;  and  throughout  the  Great 
Valley,  from  the  Lakes  to  the  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi,  Tonty  came  to  be  known  to  the 
tribes  as  the  "Man  with  the  Iron  Hand." 


XI 


"we  are  all  savages " 

The  winter  was  a  long  one  in  the  valley  of  the 
Illinois.  Food  was  scarce  and  the  little  band  at 
Fort  Crevecceur  had  many  hungry  days.  Once 
there  passed  the  Peoria  village  a  canoe  headed 
downstream,  and  in  it  the  Indians  recognized 
two  of  the  men  who  had  set  out  with  La  Salle. 
The  canoe  was  loaded  to  the  gunwale  with  pro- 
visions. Where  could  the  white  chief  have  found 
such  a  store?  The  answer  came  later  from  the 
lips  of  Chassagoac  himself  when  he  returned 
from  his  winter  hunt. 

Trailing  through  the  woods  one  day  Chassa- 
goac had  seen  the  smoke  of  a  camp-fire.  Draw- 
ing near  with  two  of  his  men  he  met  a  strange 
white  man  who  presented  him  with  a  red  blan- 
ket, a  kettle,  and  some  hatchets  and  knives. 
Chassagoac  soon  learned  that  the  stranger  was 
La  Salle,  the  chief  of  the  company  of  white  men 
who  had  settled  near  the  Peoria  village.  The 
white  man  knew  the  fame  of  Chassagoac,  and 
the  two  chiefs  sat  down  for  a  long  conference, 

92 


"WE  ARE  ALL  SAVAGES » 

during  which  La  Salle  told  of  all  the  things  that 
had  happened  at  the  village  and  explained  to  the 
red  chief  that  his  men  at  the  fort  were  in  sad 
need  of  food.  If  the  red  brother  would  furnish 
them  with  provisions  he  would  repay  him  on  his 
return  from  the  East. 

Then,  as  the  kindly  Chassagoac  promised  his 
help,  the  white  chief  went  on  to  tell  of  his  plans. 
He  told  of  the  fort  and  the  great  ship  that  was 
being  built  on  the  riverside.  Even  now  he  was 
on  his  way  to  the  East  to  make  peace  with  the 
Iroquois  for  the  Illinois,  and  he  would  come 
back  with  arms  for  their  defense  and  with  mer- 
chandise to  distribute  among  them;  and  many 
more  Frenchmen  would  return  with  him  to  es- 
tablish themselves  at  the  Illinois  villages.  He 
told  of  his  plans  for  a  great  expedition  down 
the  river  to  its  mouth,  whence  he  could  set  up 
more  easy  trade  and  bring  from  across  the  sea 
goods  of  all  kinds  for  the  tribes  of  the  Illinois. 

Chassagoac  was  deeply  interested,  and  with 
generous  hand  he  filled  a  canoe  with  stores  from 
the  caches  of  the  deserted  Kaskaskia  village  near 
at  hand.  He  urged  the  white  man  to  return 
soon,  and  assured  him  that  what  had  been  said 
about  the  beauty  and  the  easy  passage  of  the 

93 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

Mississippi  was  all  true.  Then  after  courteous 
leave-taking  the  two  chiefs  separated.  La  Salle 
continued  his  way  up  the  river,  while  two  of  his 
men  paddled  the  canoe  full  of  supplies  down  the 
stream  to  Fort  Crevecoeur.  After  parting  from 
La  Salle,  Chassagoac  went  on  with  his  hunting 
until  the  day  when  he  came  once  more  to  the 
village  of  his  people.  Here  his  arrival  was  wel- 
comed by  the  Indians,  whose  fears  were  perhaps 
somewhat  quieted  by  his  stanch  belief  in  the 
white  men.  He  spent  much  time  with  the  gray- 
robed  friars  and  talked  with  them  of  how  he 
had  met  the  black-gowned  Marquette  on  the 
distant  shores  of  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois  and  had 
given  him  part  of  the  deer  he  had  killed.  In- 
deed, Chassagoac  thought  so  well  of  the  teach- 
ings of  the  friars  that  he  agreed  to  follow  their 
strange  manitou,  and  so  was  baptized  after  the 
manner  of  the  Frenchmen. 

Meanwhile  two  more  Frenchmen  slipped 
down  the  river  past  the  village  to  the  fort, 
which  they  reached  about  the  middle  of  April. 
At  once  there  was  much  stirring  among  the 
whites,  and  soon  Tonty  with  a  few  of  his  men 
passed  up  the  river  toward  the  village  of  the 
Kaskaskias.  The  Indians  were  curious  at  this 

94 


"WE  ARE  ALL  SAVAGES" 

new  move.  Some  time  before  the  veteran  Ako, 
together  with  the  Picard  and  the  friar  Henne- 
pin, had  set  off  down  the  stream,  and  La  Salle 
with  more  men  had  gone  up  the  river  the  day- 
after.  Now  even  Tonty  was  departing. 

The  Indians  watched  closely  the  handful  of 
men  who  remained  in  the  stockaded  walls. 
Noel  Le  Blanc  and  Nicolas  Laurent,  the  two 
men  who  had  lately  arrived  at  the  fort,  had 
come  with  orders  from  La  Salle  to  Tonty  to 
build  another  fort  at  the  upper  village.  In 
Tonty's  absence,  Le  Blanc  seemed  to  be  mov- 
ing about  like  a  restless  spirit,  talking  earnestly 
among  the  men.  With  the  blacksmith  and  the 
ship  carpenters  in  particular  he  appeared  to  be 
plotting  some  deep-laid  scheme. 

Into  the  village  of  the  Peorias,  likewise,  crept 
strange  whisperings  and  rumors.  Men  from 
other  villages  came  to  tell  them  that  their  dis- 
trusted neighbors,  the  Miamis,  had  been  seek- 
ing an  alliance  with  the  hated  Iroquois.  Was 
the  fort  to  be  abandoned,  and  were  the  French- 
men to  creep  off  by  twos  and  threes  leaving  the 
Peorias  to  be  eaten  by  the  Iroquois? 

Presently  those  who  watched  the  fort  saw 
another  party  start  out.  This  time  there  were 

95 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

five  men  in  the  canoe  —  Father  Ribourde, 
Boisrondet,  L'Esperance,  and  two  others, 
Petit-Bled  and  Boisdardenne.  After  their  de- 
parture a  strange  commotion  arose  within  the 
walls  of  the  fort.  Ship  carpenters  ran  here  and 
there  plundering  the  cabins :  they  tore  down  the 
doors,  and  pillaged  and  robbed  on  every  hand. 
They  even  overturned  the  effects  in  the  lodg- 
ings of  the  priests.  Hillaret  and  the  brawny 
blacksmith  forced  open  the  storehouse  and 
brought  out  powder  and  balls  and  arms,  and 
furs  and  merchandise.  From  every  corner  of 
the  fortress  La  Roze  and  Le  Blanc  and  their 
fellow-conspirators  gathered  things  of  value. 
Then,  loaded  down  with  guns  and  beaver  skins 
and  fine  linen  and  moccasins,  they  made  for  the 
riverside.  One  man  with  a  sharp  instrument 
scratched  on  the  gleaming  white  timbers  of  the 
half-built  ship  the  words,  "Nous  sommes  tous 
Sauvages  "  —  "  We  are  all  savages  "  —  and  the 

date : "  Ce  15  A 1680."  Then  off  into  the 

woods  they  vanished,  leaving  the  fort  wrecked 
and  plundered. 

Meantime  night  had  come  upon  the  aged 
friar  and  his  four  companions  on  their  way  to 
Tonty  at  the  upper  village.    Petit-Bled  and 

96 


"WE  ARE  ALL  SAVAGES" 

Boisdardenne,  in  league  with  the  conspirators 
at  the  fort,  rose  up  and  spiked  the  guns  of 
L'Esperance  and  Boisrondet,  and  made  off 
with  the  canoe  after  their  fellows,  leaving  the 
Recollet  and  the  two  young  men  to  find  their 
way  on  foot  and  without  means  of  defense  to 
the  village  of  the  Kaskaskias. 

Tonty  heard  the  news  of  the  mutiny  with 
consternation  and  anger,  and  hastened  back  to 
the  ruined  fort.  Everything  of  value  seemed 
to  have  been  taken,  except  the  forge  and  some 
tools  and  arms  too  heavy  for  the  deserters  to 
carry  on  their  flight.  With  this  freight  the 
heavy-hearted  Tonty  made  his  way  back  to  the 
Kaskaskia  village,  where  the  lodges  were  once 
more  filled  by  the  returning  warriors  and 
hunters.  After  sending,  by  two  routes,  messen- 
gers to  tell  La  Salle  of  the  catastrophe,  Tonty 
prepared  for  a  new  order  of  life.  The  fort 
and  its  garrison  no  longer  gave  him  protection; 
but  the  Man  with  the  Iron  Hand  was  no 
coward.  With  his  fragment  of  a  band  he  en- 
tered the  village  and  asked  the  Kaskaskias  if  he 
might  live  in  their  midst.  They  welcomed  him 
to  their  kettles  and  their  cabins,  and  shared 
with  him  and  his  men  their  food  and  their 

97 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON  HAND 

buffalo  robes.  The  band  of  thirty  or  more  that 
had  come  into  the  valley  a  few  months  before 
was  now  reduced  to  six — Tonty  and  his  friend 
Boisrondet,  the  two  young  men,  L'Esperance 
and  Renault  the  Parisian,  and  the  two  friars  — 
Father  Membre  having  come  up  from  the  lower 
village. 


XII 

THE  DEATH  OF  CHASSAGOAC 

The  summer  of  1680  was  an  unquiet  season, 
when  every  whisper  of  the  wind  seemed  to  bring 
ill  news.  Persistent  rumors  came  to  the  Illinois 
of  an  alliance  between  the  Iroquois  and  the 
Miamis.  Seeing  their  fears  the  energetic  man 
with  the  "medicine"  arm  began  to  teach  his 
red  brothers  the  arts  of  the  white  man:  he 
showed  them  the  use  of  guns  and  taught  them 
how  to  fight  as  the  white  men  fought. 

One  day  a  runner  came  into  the  village  with 
news  of  the  death  of  La  Salle,  followed  a  little 
later  by  another  Indian  who  confirmed  the  evil 
tidings.  The  Illinois  saw  gloom  in  the  face  of 
Tonty;  but  his  eyes  flashed  no  less  of  fire  and 
his  step  lacked  none  of  its  usual  vigor,  for  he 
was  every  inch  a  chief.  Then  into  the  village  a 
new  rumor  came  whispering  to  the  Indians  that 
this  dark-visaged  chieftain  with  flowing  hair 
was  no  Frenchman  at  all ;  that  he  came  from  a 
country  far  beyond  France  whose  people  bore 

99 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

no  kinship  or  allegiance  to  the  great  King  of 
the  French. 

Surely  the  situation  looked  worse  for  the  Illi- 
nois with  each  passing  day.  If  the  white  men 
were  in  league  with  the  Iroquois,  and  if  their 
kinsmen,  the  Miamis,  had  joined  the  enemy, 
they  and  their  wives  and  children  might  well 
fear  the  time  when  the  war  cry  of  the  painted 
Iroquois  would  echo  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois. 
Defeated  and  overwhelmed,  they  would  be 
eaten  by  their  enemies.  Did  not  the  tribes  of 
the  Five  Nations  thus  treat  their  captives? 
Consternation  rose  on  the  wings  of  fear.  What 
hope  had  the  Illinois  against  the  tribes  from  the 
East? 

From  their  long  houses  at  the  other  end  of 
the  Great  Lakes  the  famous  Iroquois  warriors 
had  spread  desolation  among  a  hundred  tribes. 
They  had  conquered  and  subjugated  whole 
nations.  Toward  the  south  as  far  as  the  Chero- 
kees  and  Catawbas  they  had  made  easy  con- 
quests. North  of  the  Iroquois  were  the  French 
on  the  St.  Lawrence.  Since  Champlain  had 
taken  sides  with  the  Canadian  Indians  against 
the  Iroquois,  three  quarters  of  a  century  ago, 
the  tribes  of  the  Five  Nations  had  hated  the 

ioo 


THE  DEATH  O*    CHASSAGOAC 

French.  But  they  did  not  dare  attack  them. 
So  now  the  West  offered  the  best  field  for 
their  eager  ravages.  From  the  Dutch  in  New 
Netherland,  and  later  from  their  English  suc- 
cessors, they  had  purchased  guns  and  ammuni- 
tion, and  they  had  set  their  cruel  hearts  upon 
laying  waste  the  valley  of  the  Illinois  —  at  least 
so  the  tribes  of  the  West  had  heard  and  be- 
lieved. 

The  Illinois  had  fought  off  the  Iroquois 
before.  Could  they  do  it  again?  Their  own 
warriors  were  experts  with  bows  and  arrows, 
and  some  of  them  had  guns  now;  but  the  Iro- 
quois warriors  had  every  man  his  gun,  and  also 
his  shield  to  ward  off  the  feeble  arrows  of  West- 
ern tribes.  By  their  attacks  other  tribes  had 
been  almost  exterminated,  and  their  captives 
burned  by  slow  fires  with  inconceivable  tor- 
tures. What  better  chance  had  the  Illinois, 
particularly  if  the  treacherous  Miamis  joined 
the  foe  and  the  white  men  also  proved  to  be 
enemies?  So  they  watched  Tonty  narrowly; 
but  the  dark-eyed  chief,  with  his  forge  and  his 
tools,  his  restless  stride,  and  his  proud  bearing, 
lived  among  them,  and  heeded  not  their  anxious 
or  suspicious  looks. 

IOI 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

The  year  seemed  truly  a  calamitous  one  for 
the  Indians.  It  was  in  those  trying  days  that 
some  Illinois  were  gathered  in  one  of  the  long- 
roofed  lodges,  where  on  a  bed  made  soft  by 
the  skins  of  buffalo  lay  a  man  close  unto 
death.  About  him  stood  the  men  upon  whom 
the  nation  relied  to  heal  the  sick  and  cure  the 
wounded,  to  drive  away  the  evil  spirits,  and 
to  conjure  the  good  spirits  —  the  mysterious 
medicine  men.  They  had  worked  long  with  the 
man  who  lay  upon  the  bed,  for  he  was  a  chief 
great  in  the  councils  of  the  Illinois  nation. 

A  skillful  hunter,  a  brave  warrior,  the  great- 
est chief  of  the  Illinois,  Chassagoac  lay  dying. 
Five  years  ago  he  had  known  Father  Mar- 
quette, and  now  just  a  little  while  ago  he  had 
been  baptized  by  one  of  the  gray-robed  friars 
who  belonged  to  the  band  of  his  friend  La  Salle. 
But  as  his  death  came  on,  it  was  to  his  own 
people  that  he  turned.  The  manitou  of  the 
French  was  so  far  away,  while  the  medicine 
men  of  his  tribe  were  so  near.  So  they  gathered 
about  him  with  their  dances  and  their  incan- 
tations; they  made  passes  over  his  body  and 
muttered  strange  words;  they  lifted  their  eyes 
and  their  voices  toward  the  four  winds  of  the 

102 


THE  DEATH  OF   CHASSAGOAC 

heavens;  and  they  waved  rattles  in  a  vain  effort 
to  appease  the  spirit  that  sought  to  rob  them 
of  their  chief.  It  was  useless.  Chassagoac  had 
looked  about  him  for  the  last  time.  For  a 
moment  it  was  quiet  in  the  lodge.  Then  a  long 
despairing  wail  rent  the  air;  and  outside  among 
the  lodges  every  man  and  woman  and  child 
knew  that  the  spirit  of  the  great  Chassagoac 
had  gone  out  of  him  forever. 


XIII 

THE   IROQUOIS   COME 

The  level  stretch  of  land  along  the  north 
bank  of  the  Illinois  River,  where  lay  the  lodges 
of  the  Kaskaskias,  swarmed  with  hundreds  of 
Indian  braves  who  were  eager  to  be  off  into 
the  woods  and  across  the  plains.  What  was  so 
stupid  as  life  among  the  lodges  with  the  women 
and  old  men  when  the  far-off  wilds  called  them, 
when  streams  might  carry  their  pirogues  into 
lands  where  their  enemies  lay  sleeping  and 
unwatchful,  when  the  trails  to  north  and  south 
and  east  and  west  might  lead  them  into  woods 
and  fields  where  bountiful  game  would  fall 
before  their  arrows?  Why  should  the  white 
chief  make  so  serious  objection?  Other  bands 
had  set  off  some  days  before  in  spite  of  his 
protests. 

No  one  had  seen  signs  of  the  Iroquois,  and 
the  alarm  raised  so  often  began  to  lose  its  ter- 
ror. Besides,  was  Tonty  such  a  good  prophet 
after  all  ?  He  had  told  them  that  La  Salle  would 
return  by  the  end  of  May,  and  now  May  had 

104 


THE   IROQUOIS   COME 

long  been  gone  and  sure  tidings  had  come  that 
La  Salle  was  dead. 

It  was  not  yet  fall.  Across  the  river  the  leaves 
of  the  trees,  still  fresh  and  green,  were  turning 
and  rippling  in  the  winds.  Even  the  sound  of 
their  whispering  said  to  the  Indians :  "  Soon  we 
will  be  dropping  off  and  the  frosts  will  come. 
Hunting  is  good.  Come  away  into  the  woods." 
And  they  went. 

September  found  not  half  the  warriors  left  in 
the  village;  but  Tonty  and  his  three  young  men 
were  still  there.  The  two  gray-robed  Recollets 
—  one  short  and  sturdy  and  young,  and  the 
other  who  had  seen  the  seasons  change  as  often 
as  the  old  men  in  the  village  —  withdrew  to  a 
cabin  in  the  midst  of  a  field  some  distance  from 
the  town.  La  Salle  had  not  come  back;  nor  had 
the  round-faced  priest,  who  strutted  so  pom- 
pously down  to  the  water's  edge  in  February 
and  paddled  off  with  Ako  and  the  Picard  toward 
the  sunset. 

The  Indians  hoped  Tonty  would  continue  to 
stay  with  them.  More  than  four  months  he  had 
lived  in  their  midst,  and  now  it  was  twice  that 
time  since  he  had  first  come  into  their  valley. 
He  dealt  with  them  honestly  and  without  fear, 

IPS 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

and  he  had  taught  them  many  new  ways.  The 
Illinois  were  archers  whose  fame  had  spread 
throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  val- 
ley of  the  Mississippi;  but  Tonty  had  shown 
them  how  to  use  the  guns  that  spat  fire  and 
dropped  a  foe  while  the  bow  was  bending  —  the 
guns  that  made  the  Iroquois  so  dreaded. 

In  spite  of  privation  and  discouragement, 
desertions  and  loss  of  friends,  Tonty  gave  no 
sign  that  he  had  lost  heart.  If  only  the  Indians 
could  hear  again  the  reassuring  words  of  the 
lamented  Chassagoac  and  forget  the  warnings 
of  his  still  suspicious  brother,  Nicanope,  they 
could  learn  to  trust  the  French  and  to  love  this 
white  leader  like  a  brother. 

Once  Tonty  had  set  off  in  a  canoe  to  see  if  he 
could  learn  at  the  settlement  at  Mackinac  some 
news  of  his  chief  who  all  people  said  was  dead. 
The  Indians  protested  against  his  departure, 
but  in  vain.  He  did  not  go  far,  however,  for  the 
river  was  at  that  time  so  low  that  he  ran  upon 
shoals  and  was  obliged  to  return  to  the  village. 

Toward  the  middle  of  September  came  the 
hoped-for  rains,  and  one  day  Tonty  and  his  men 
drew  their  canoe  out  of  the  water,  turned  it  up- 
side down,  and  began  to  renew  its  coat  of  gum 

106 


THE  IROQUOIS  COME 

ready  for  another  trial  of  the  river.  Some  of  the 
Indians  watched  him  as  he  worked  with  his 
curious  left-handed  movements.  Others  were 
too  busy  entertaining  a  friendly  Shawnee  who 
was  paying  a  visit  to  the  village.  As  night  came 
on,  the  Shawnee  departed,  making  his  way 
toward  the  south  and  west.  The  rounded  roofs 
of  the  village  caught  the  arrows  shot  by  the 
setting  sun  and  then  sank  into  dusk.  Under 
each  roof  Indian  men  stretched  out  upon  buf- 
falo hides  and  lost  themselves  in  dreams.  The 
women  arranged  the  lodges  for  the  night  and 
then  lay  down  beside  brown  little  papooses 
whose  round  eyes  had  long  been  closed.  So  the 
quiet  night  settled  down  upon  the  village. 
Three  times  would  the  oaks  along  the  river  sow 
their  leaves  to  the  winds  of  winter  before  an- 
other such  peaceful  night  would  come  upon  the 
village  and  its  people. 

The  next  day  Indians  of  the  village  saw  the 
Shawnee  come  hurrying  back,  cross  the  river, 
and  rush  hot-foot  into  the  town.  "The  Iro- 
quois!" he  panted  to  the  excited  chiefs.  Two 
leagues  off  to  the  southwest,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Aramoni,  a  tributary  of  the  Illinois  River,  he 
had  discovered  an  army  of  five  or  six  hundred 

107 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

Iroquois  coming  to  attack  the  village.  Turmoil 
fell  upon  the  Kaskaskias.  Where  were  their 
warriors?  More  than  half  of  them  were  scat- 
tered to  the  four  quarters  of  the  valley.  Only- 
four  or  five  hundred  remained.  And  where 
were  the  guns  which  Tonty  had  so  carefully 
trained  them  to  use?  Gone  for  the  most  part 
with  the  absent  warriors.  Only  a  few  were  left, 
with  ammunition  for  three  or  four  shots  apiece. 
The  rest  of  the  braves  had  only  bows  and 
arrows  and  war  clubs.  Tonty  had  been  right, 
but  it  was  no  time  now  to  lament. 

A  reconnoitring  party  sent  out  to  spy  upon 
the  enemy  soon  came  back  in  great  excitement. 
About  five  hundred  Iroquois  were  encamped 
along  the  Aramoni.  They  had  guns  and  pistols 
and  sabers.  Most  of  them  had  shields  of  wood 
or  of  leather,  and  some  wore  wooden  breast- 
plates. And  with  the  Iroquois  were  a  hundred 
Miamis,  armed  with  bows  and  arrows.  The 
anger  of  the  Illinois  rose  with  their  fear.  The 
Miamis,  their  neighbors  and  kin,  should  smart 
for  this  afterward.  But  the  spying  party  had 
still  further  news  to  tell.  Among  the  moving 
figures  of  the  enemy  they  had  seen  one  arrayed 
in  a  black  robe  and  a  Jesuit's  cowl.  Calmer  eyes 

108 


THE   IROQUOIS   COME 

would  have  seen  that  it  was  only  an  Iroquois 
chief  decked  out  in  a  black  coat  and  hat.  But 
the  heated  imagination  of  the  scouts  saw  a 
French  priest;  while  in  another  figure  they 
made  sure  they  saw  La  Salle  himself. 

If  the  village  had  been  in  a  turmoil  before, 
now  it  was  in  a  fury.  Their  worst  fears,  then, 
had  come  true:  the  French  were  all  traitors. 
Even  Tonty  had  deceived  them  and  had  his 
own  reasons  for  trying  to  get  out  of  the  village 
before  the  Iroquois  came.  Like  angry  bees  the 
Indians  swarmed  to  the  lodge  of  Tonty. 
"  Now,"  said  one  of  their  chiefs,  "we  know  you 
for  a  friend  of  the  Iroquois.  The  winds  of 
rumor  have  told  us  no  lies.  We  are  lost,  for  the 
enemy  are  too  many  for  us  and  you  and  the 
Frenchmen  are  their  friends. " 

In  the  midst  of  the  furious,  gesticulating 
crowd  of  warriors  Tonty  stood  calm.  "I  will 
show  you  that  I  am  not  a  friend  of  the  Iro- 
quois," he  replied.  "If  need  be,  I  will  die  with 
you.  I  and  my  men  will  help  you  fight  your 
battle." 

Their  anger  turned  to  joy  as  they  thought 
that  with  such  a  leader  the  good  spirits  might 
yet  give  them  victory.  There  was  much  to 

109 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

do  before  the  battle.  With  swift  hands  they 
gathered  together  a  supply  of  corn;  and  when 
night  came  ghostly  figures  moved  to  and  fro  as 
they  embarked  the  women  and  children  in  their 
long  pirogues.  Each  wooden  canoe  would  hold 
thirty  or  more,  and  there  were  hundreds  to 
crowd  the  little  fleet.  With  a  guard  of  fifty  or 
sixty  men  the  boats  slipped  out,  one  after  an- 
other, upon  the  dark  waters.  Noiseless  paddles 
dipped  in  and  out  as  the  barks,  filled  with  provi- 
sions and  the  closely  huddled  figures,  shot  down 
the  stream.  They  passed  the  black  mouth  of 
the  Aramoni,  and  after  several  hours  came  to  a 
spot  six  leagues  below  the  village.  Here,  in  a 
place  made  almost  inaccessible  by  the  river  on 
one  side  and  a  swamp  on  the  other,  they  landed 
and  set  up  camp. 

In  the  Kaskaskia  village  there  was  no  rest 
that  night.  The  young  braves  were  preparing 
for  the  battle  of  the  morrow.  By  long  rows 
of  camp-fires,  kettles  were  hung.  Dogs  were 
killed  and  cooked,  for  the  occasion  was  one  de- 
serving of  so  great  a  ceremony.  By  turns  they 
feasted  and  danced  in  the  flickering  light  of  the 
fires  —  weird  dances,  punctuated  with  howls 
and  whoops.  The  flames  of  the  camp-fires  cast 

no 


THE  IROQUOIS  COME 

the  shadows  of  the  dancers  across  the  open  space 
and  against  the  walls  of  the  lodges  like  ghostly, 
ever-changing  spirits;  and  into  the  night  air 
rose  chants,  rhythmic  and  uncanny.  All  the 
long  night  through  the  Indians  kept  up  their 
rites  to  work  themselves  into  a  proper  spirit  for 
the  attack  upon  the  Iroquois  —  a  fight  against 
odds  wherein  they  needed  the  help  of  every 
manitou  or  spirit  that  could  aid  them. 

Gradually  the  fires  die  out  as  in  the  east  a 
faint  light  begins  to  spread.  The  day  has  come 
at  last,  the  day  which  for  years  the  Illinois  have 
dreaded.  They  gather  with  fresh  war  paint 
and  ready  weapons  —  bows  and  arrows,  heavy- 
headed  clubs,  or  skull-crackers,  and  the  few 
guns  that  are  left.  Tonty  is  there  with  two  of 
his  men.  L'Esperance  is  to  remain  in  the  village 
to  guard  the  papers  of  La  Salle;  and  the  two 
friars,  ignorant  of  the  excitement,  are  a  league 
away  in  their  retreat  in  the  fields. 

Together  the  warriors  crowd  to  the  river 
bank,  Tonty  and  Boisrondet  and  Renault  in  the 
lead,  with  the  naked  and  painted  Indians  howl- 
ing and  whooping  about  them.  Their  pirogues 
cross  the  stream  in  a  trice.  Through  the  strip 
of  oaks,  over  the  hill  and  out  across  the  open 

in 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

meadow,  the  warriors,  white  and  red,  dash  on  to 
the  conflict.  They  approach  the  ranks  of  the 
Iroquois,  but  halt  in  an  open  field  in  sight  of 
the  enemy. 

Tonty  will  make  a  last  effort  at  peace  and  is 
given  a  wampum  necklace  as  a  truce  offering. 
Handing  his  gun  to  a  friend,  he  walks  across 
the  intervening  space  attended  by  a  single 
Illinois.  The  Indians  watch  him  closely  as  he 
nears  the  foe.  There  is  a  sharp,  deadly  volley 
from  the  Iroquois.  Tonty  stops,  and  sending 
back  the  Indian  who  is  with  him,  goes  on  alone. 
Arrow  and  ball  fly  about  him,  but  he  reaches 
the  lines  unscathed.  Iroquois  warriors  swallow 
him  from  the  view  of  the  anxious  Illinois.  Only 
the  Indian  who  has  crossed  half  the  open  space 
with  him  sees  the  knife  of  an  Iroquois  flash  out 
and  bury  itself  in  the  side  of  the  white  chief. 
Then  the  staggering  figure  is  lost  even  to  his 
view.  A  moment  later  his  hat  is  raised  upon 
the  end  of  a  gun  high  above  the  heads  of  the  foe. 

With  a  cry  of  rage  the  whole  force  of  the 
Illinois  breaks  again  into  a  charge,  furious  to 
avenge  such  treachery.  The  young  Boisrondet 
and  Renault  are  in  the  lead,  their  hair  flowing 
back  in  their  speed,  their  set  faces  full  of  the 

112 


THE   IROQUOIS  COME 

lust  of  battle  and  revenge.  The  twisting,  howl- 
ing figures  of  five  hundred  Indians  hurl  them- 
selves upon  the  ranks  of  the  enemy.  Then  like 
fiends  they  fight.  The  report  of  the  Iroquois 
guns  is  like  the  cracking  of  twigs  in  the  forest  to 
the  new-found  courage  of  the  Illinois.  Their 
war  cries  rise  above  it  sharp  and  shrill.  Swift 
arrows  fly  like  driving  hail.  Heavy  war  clubs 
crash  on  Iroquois  shield  or  on  painted  head  and 
body.  Even  the  vaunted  Iroquois  cannot  hold 
against  them.  Their  left  side  weakens,  then 
yields,  and  gives  back  for  half  a  league  across 
the  meadow. 

Then  goes  up  the  sudden  cry  that  Tonty  is 
alive.  Out  of  the  press  of  battling  foes  he  comes 
motioning  them  to  hold.  Gradually  the  din  and 
the  tumult  cease.  The  Illinois  withdraw  and 
count  their  losses.  Tonty  reaches  them,  weak 
with  the  loss  of  blood  from  a  gaping  wound  in 
his  side,  but  he  carries  in  his  hand  a  wampum 
peace  offering  from  the  Iroquois. 


XIV 

THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

Throughout  the  fight  Tonty's  life  hung 
upon  a  thread.  An  impetuous  Onondaga  had 
stabbed  him  in  the  side,  but  fortunately  the 
knife  had  glanced  from  a  rib.  Another  Indian 
seized  him  by  the  hair;  and  a  third  raised  his  hat 
upon  a  gun.  Then  one  of  the  chiefs  recognized 
him  as  a  white  man  and  intervened.  He  was 
carried  into  the  midst  of  the  camp,  where  the 
chiefs  gathered  about  him  and  heard  his  plea 
for  peace.  The  Illinois,  said  Tonty,  were  just 
as  much  the  friends  of  the  governor  of  Canada 
as  were  the  Iroquois.  Why  should  the  Iroquois 
make  war  upon  them? 

It  was  an  unquiet  parley.  Behind  Tonty  stood 
an  Indian  warrior  with  ready  knife;  and  now 
and  then  as  they  talked  he  wound  his  fingers 
in  the  white  man's  hair  and  raised  his  black 
locks  as  if  to  scalp  him.  Outside  of  the  circle  the 
fight  went  on.  Then  came  the  report  that  Iro- 
quois men  were  killed  and  wounded  and  that 

114 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

the  left  side  was  yielding.  Dismayed,  the  chiefs 
asked  their  white  captive  how  many  men  were 
in  the  fight.  Tonty,  seeing  a  chance  to  prevent 
hostilities,  replied  that  there  were  twelve  hun- 
dred Illinois  and  that  fifty  Frenchmen  were 
fighting  with  them.  Overcome  with  consterna- 
tion at  these  figures,  the  chiefs  hastened  to  give 
Tonty  the  present  of  wampum  and  beg  him  to 
make  peace  for  the  Iroquois. 

The  Illinois  with  their  wounded  white  leader 
and  his  two  men  turned  back  to  the  village.  A 
league  from  home  they  came  upon  Father 
Membre  hurrying  out  to  meet  them.  The 
sound  of  guns  had  brought  him  from  his  cabin 
in  the  fields  back  of  the  town.  They  crossed  the 
river  together,  and  Tonty  was  glad  enough  to 
lie  down  in  one  of  the  lodges  and  let  the  priest 
and  young  men  tend  his  wound. 

Scarcely  had  the  Illinois  reached  their  lodges 
when,  looking  back,  they  saw  little  groups  of 
Iroquois  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  A  few  of 
these  soon  found  means  of  crossing,  and  they 
hovered  near  the  village  in  a  pretense  of  seeking 
food.  But  the  Illinois,  who  were  not  children  in 
the  art  of  Indian  warfare,  were  well  aware  of 
the  ways  of  the  treacherous  Iroquois,  and  they 

US 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

watched  these  straggling  bands  with  gloomy 
foreboding. 

By  a  magnificent  sally  the  Illinois  had 
daunted  their  enemy,  and  Tonty's  exaggeration 
of  their  numbers  had  completed  the  impression 
of  their  power  in  the  minds  of  the  Iroquois. 
But  the  Illinois  well  knew  that  they  were  no 
match  for  the  Iroquois  with  their  abundance 
of  arms  and  ammunition  and  their  allies,  the 
Miamis.  Sooner  or  later  the  Iroquois  would 
learn  the  true  numbers  of  the  villagers.  Then 
the  fierce  warriors  of  the  Five  Nations  would 
harry  them  until  they  found  an  opportunity  to 
crush  them  out  of  existence.  Massacres,  tor- 
tures, and  burnings  could  be  their  only  possible 
end  if  they  stayed  in  the  village.  After  their 
warriors  were  slain,  what  of  the  women  and 
children,  anxiously  waiting  in  the  secluded 
refuge  down  the  river? 

Tonty  and  his  men  were  probably  safe,  for 
the  Iroquois  had  too  much  fear  of  the  French  in 
Canada  to  harm  them  without  great  provoca- 
tion. But  the  Illinois  were  not  safe.  So  they 
deserted  their  village,  took  to  their  pirogues, 
and  passed  downstream  to  join  their  wives  and 
old  men. 

116 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

In  their  hearts  the  Indians  saw  the  wisdom  of 
flight,  for  they  knew  what  had  happened  in  the 
past.  They  did  not  forget  the  fate  of  other  na- 
tions whom  the  Iroquois  had  practically  exter- 
minated. Would  the  invasion  of  the  Illinois 
country  have  any  other  end?  Yet  it  was  with 
heavy  and  reluctant  hearts  that  they  gave  up 
their  lodges  to  the  hated  foe;  and  bands  of  war- 
riors trailed  back  up  the  river  for  another  look 
at  their  one-time  home.  Appearing  on  the  hills 
a  short  distance  behind  the  village  they  gazed 
down  upon  the  ruined  lodges  which  had  been 
fired  by  the  Iroquois,  who  had  piled  timber  and 
half-burned  posts  in  the  form  of  a  rude  fort. 
In  a  lodge  some  distance  away  Tonty  had  been 
left  still  suffering  from  his  wound  and  attended 
by  his  five  men. 

More  and  more  of  the  Illinois  gathered  on  thr 
hill,  until  the  array  of  warriors  alarmed  the 
Iroquois,  who  still  nursed  the  belief  that  twelve 
hundred  Illinois  were  haunting  their  rear.  The 
Illinois  continued  their  watch  day  by  day  and 
presently  saw  two  men  leave  the  town  and 
climb  the  hill  toward  them.  They  soon  dis- 
tinguished the  peculiar  swing  of  their  friend 
Tonty.  With  him  was  an  Iroquois  Indian.  Joy- 

117 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

fully  they  welcomed  him  and  listened  to  his 
message.  The  Iroquois  wished  to  make  a 
treaty  of  peace  and  had  sent  one  of  their  men  as 
a  hostage. 

The  Illinois  in  turn  sent  back  with  Tonty  one 
of  their  own  young  men,  and  negotiations  were 
soon  begun.  But  the  peacemaker  had  been 
badly  chosen,  for  the  young  Indian,  eager  for  a 
treaty  of  peace,  promised  everything  and  finally 
revealed  to  the  Iroquois  the  true  number  of  the 
Illinois  warriors.  The  Iroquois  said  little  to  the 
Illinois  messenger,  but  sent  him  back  to  his 
people  that  night  to  tell  the  chiefs  to  come  next 
day  within  half  a  league  of  the  fort  and  conclude 
the  peace.  Then  they  turned  on  Tonty  with 
wrath  and  reproaches  for  having  deceived 
them. 

The  next  day  at  noon  Illinois  and  Iroquois 
met  not  far  from  the  village.  The  Iroquois,  hid- 
ing their  true  plans,  gave  presents  to  their  late 
opponents  and  bound  themselves  to  a  firm  and 
lasting  peace.  But  Tonty,  who  was  not  misled, 
managed  to  send  Father  Membre  to  the  Illinois 
to  tell  them  that  the  peace  was  only  a  pretense, 
that  the  Iroquois  were  making  elm-bark  canoes, 
and  that  if  the  Illinois  did  not  flee  at  once 

118 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

they  would  be  followed  and  their  whole  tribe 
massacred. 

At  night  the  Iroquois  called  Tonty  and 
Father  Membre  into  the  rude  fort,  and  having 
seated  the  white  leader  they  laid  before  him 
presents  consisting  of  six  bundles  of  valuable 
beaver  skins.  By  the  first  two  presents  the  Iro- 
quois meant  to  inform  Governor  Frontenac 
that  they  would  not  eat  his  children  and  that  he 
should  not  be  angry  at  what  they  had  done. 
The  third  bundle  of  skins  was  to  be  a  plaster  for 
the  white  man's  wound.  The  fourth  repre- 
sented oil  to  be  rubbed  on  the  white  men's 
limbs  because  of  the  long  journeys  they  had 
taken.  With  the  fifth  they  told  Tonty  how 
bright  the  sun  was ;  and  with  the  sixth  they  said 
that  he  should  profit  by  it  and  return  the  next 
day  to  the  French  settlements. 

"When  are  you  going  to  leave  the  Illinois 
country?"  asked  the  dauntless  white  man. 

"Not  until  we  have  eaten  these  Illinois," 
replied  the  angered  chiefs. 

With  a  quick  motion  of  his  foot  Tonty 
kicked  the  beaver  skins  from  him  —  an  unpar- 
donable oifense  among  Indians.  Angry  looks 
and  gesticulations  from  the  Indians  greeted 

119 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON  HAND 

this  act,  but  they  hesitated  to  lay  hands  upon 
Tonty  for  he  was  a  friend  of  Frontenac,  the 
powerful  governor  of  New  France.  Perhaps, 
too,  they  realized,  better  even  than  did  the 
Illinois,  the  power  of  his  heavy  right  hand,  for 
he  had  lived  in.  the  land  of  the  Iroquois  before 
he  had  come  out  into  these  Western  wilds. 

Scarcely  restraining  themselves,  they  drove 
the  two  men  from  the  fort.  Tonty  and  the  friar 
returned  to  their  comrades  at  their  lodge.  No 
longer  was  their  presence  in  the  Iroquois  camp 
useful  to  the  Illinois  or  safe  for  themselves. 
Hardly  expecting  to  see  the  dawn,  they  passed 
the  night  on  guard  resolved  to  sell  their  lives  as 
dearly  as  possible.  But  they  were  not  molested, 
and  when  day  came  they  embarked  for  the  far- 
off  settlements.  They  were  the  last  white  men 
to  leave  the  valley  of  the  Illinois  where  carnage 
and  woe  were  to  reign. 

The  journey  of  Tonty  and  his  companions 
was  a  difficult  one,  and  calamity  met  them  early 
on  the  way.  After  some  five  hours'  paddling, 
they  stopped  to  mend  their  canoe.  The  old  friar 
Ribourde  went  off  in  the  woods  a  little  distance 
to  pray,  and  was  set  upon  and  murdered  by  a 
roving  band  of  Kickapoos.  After  searching  for 

120 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

him  in  vain,  the  rest  of  his  party  went  on.  By- 
short  journeys  they  reached  the  Lake  of  the 
Illinois  and  turned  northward.  Winter  over- 
took them;  their  food  gave  out;  and  they  fell  to 
eating  acorns  and  grubbing  up  roots  from  be- 
neath the  snow.  When  their  moccasins  wore 
out,  —  for  most  of  their  travel  was  now  by 
land,  —  they  made  themselves  shoes  out  of  a 
cloak  which  the  murdered  friar  had  left  behind. 
Weeks  passed  by  as  they  journeyed  on.  They 
came  now  and  then  upon  deserted  Indian 
camps,  and,  desperate  with  hunger,  they  tried 
to  eat  the  leather  thongs  which  bound  together 
the  poles  of  the  Indian  lodges.  They  even 
chewed  the  tough  rawhide  of  an  old  Indian 
shield  which  they  had  found.  Tonty  was  sick 
almost  constantly  with  fever  and  scarcely  able 
to  walk.  Not  until  December  did  the  party  of 
five  men  reach  Green  Bay,  where  at  last  they 
were  given  a  warm  welcome  by  the  Indians  and 
some  Frenchmen  in  a  Pottawattomie  village. 

Back  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois,  after  the 
departure  of  the  little  group  of  French  from  the 
village,  all  pretense  at  peace  was  cast  aside,  and 
Iroquois  fury  turned  itself  loose.  The  Illinois  had 
gone,  leaving  them  only  a  deserted  village,  on 

121 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

which  they  wreaked  their  vengeance.  Having 
destroyed  the  lodges  by  fire,  they  dug  up  the 
caches  of  corn  and  burned  and  scattered  the 
contents.  Then  they  moved  on  to  the  village 
graveyard  and  tore  down  from  the  scaffolds  the 
bodies  that  had  been  left  there  for  a  time  before 
burial.  From  the  graves  of  the  village  they  dug 
up  the  long-buried  relatives  of  the  departed 
inhabitants,  and  scattered  the  bones  in  every 
direction.  Out  of  pure  fiendishness  they  de- 
spoiled this  most  sacred  spot  in  the  Indian 
town.  On  the  half-burned  poles  of  the  lodges 
they  hung  skulls  for  the  crows  to  pick.  Then 
they  followed  the  fleeing  Illinois  down  the  river. 
The  Illinois  gathered  again  at  the  place 
where  their  women  and  children  had  taken 
refuge.  It  was  a  long  narrow  bit  of  land  on  the 
north  bank  of  the  river.  Between  it  and  solid 
ground  was  a  heavy,  muddy  swamp  across 
which  only  a  four-foot  path  of  firm  ground  was 
to  be  found.  On  this  semi-island,  half  a  league 
in  length  and  but  fifteen  or  twenty  paces  wide, 
the  women  had  built  temporary  lodges.  Only 
from  the  water  side  could  attack  be  made,  and 
here  they  piled  up  their  pirogues  in  the  form  of 
a  wall. 

122 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

The  Iroquois,  following  close  after,  camped 
on  the  shore  directly  across  the  river,  where 
over  a  hundred  huts  were  soon  erected.  On  the 
bark  of  near-by  trees  they  cut  the  savage  story 
of  the  raid,  and  traced  rude  pictures  of  the 
chiefs  and  the  number  of  warriors  that  each 
chief  led  out.  Five  hundred  and  eighty-two 
braves  were  thus  recorded.  On  one  tree  a  dia- 
gram was  traced  showing  the  scalps  of  the 
Illinois  who  had  been  killed  and  the  number  of 
captives  who  had  been  taken;  while  on  their 
own  record  of  warriors  were  figures  represented 
as  pierced  with  gunshot  or  wounded  with 
arrows. 

The  Illinois,  terrified  by  the  pursuit  of  their 
enemy,  crossed  the  narrow  path  to  the  main- 
land and  took  up  their  journey  downstream. 
At  night  they  again  camped  beside  the  river; 
and  soon  the  fires  of  the  Iroquois  camp  shot  up 
from  the  other  shore.  Another  day's  march, 
and  again  two  camps  appeared  at  night  on  op- 
posite banks.  The  Iroquois,  who  did  not  yet  dare 
to  make  an  attack,  hung  on  the  flanks  of  the 
Illinois  like  a  pack  of  cowardly  wolves. 

The  Illinois  traveled  slowly,  for  they  were 
greatly  impeded  by  the  women  and  children 

123 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON  HAND 

and  old  men,  and  food  must  be  gathered  by  the 
way.  But  just  as  slowly  and  deliberately  fol- 
lowed the  Iroquois.  Occasionally  they  tried  to 
put  the  Illinois  off  their  guard  by  offerings  of 
peace;  but  the  Illinois  were  wary.  The  two 
armies,  marching  side  by  side  with  only  the 
river  between,  passed  Peoria  Lake,  and  the  men 
of  the  Peoria  village  crossed  over  and  joined 
their  brethren.  When  the  Iroquois  came  to 
the  deserted  ruins  of  Fort  Crevecceur  below  the 
village,  they  stopped  long  enough  to  pull  the 
nails  out  of  the  timbers  of  the  skeleton  of 
the  boat  by  the  water's  edge. 

Day  after  day  the  Illinois  and  Iroquois 
walked  beside  the  river.  Night  after  night 
camp-fires  faced  each  other  across  the  waters. 
On  the  way  the  Illinois  had  gathered  many  of 
their  tribes  together.  The  Peorias,  the  Cahokias, 
the  Moingwenas,  the  Tamaroas,  and  several 
minor  tribes  had  joined  the  moving  army  like 
parts  of  a  rolling  snowball.  If  only  they  were 
armed  with  guns  and  free  from  their  wives  and 
children,  they  might  strike  a  blow  that  the  Iro- 
quois would  long  remember.  But  wiser  coun- 
sels prevented  such  a  move. 

It  became  more  and  more  difficult  to  find 
124 


THE  SCATTERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

food  for  so  many;  and  as  they  neared  the  Mis- 
sissippi River  they  longed  to  separate  and  go  off 
each  tribe  to  its  own  hunting-ground.  They 
held  a  parley  with  the  enemy  across  the  river, 
and  a  truce  was  declared.  Then  the  Illinois 
tribes  separated.  The  Moingwenas  with  several 
of  the  smaller  tribes  went  down  the  Mississippi ; 
the  Peorias  crossed  to  the  western  side;  while 
the  Kaskaskias  and  Cahokias  preferred  to  go  up 
the  river  toward  the  land  of  the  Sioux.  But  the 
Tamaroas,  most  luckless  of  all,  lingered  near 
the  mouth  of  the  Illinois  River.  It  was  the 
opportunity  for  which  the  Iroquois  had  waited, 
for  their  long-time  policy  had  been  to  "divide 
and  conquer."  Such  had  been  their  plan  when 
they  came  into  the  valley,  separating  the 
Miamis  from  the  Illinois  and  falling  upon  the 
latter. 

As  soon  as  the  other  tribes  were  out  of  the 
way,  the  Iroquois  attacked  the  Tamaroas. 
That  feeble  tribe  fled  in  terror.  Some  of  the 
men  escaped,  while  the  rest  were  massacred. 
Along  the  margin  of  the  Illinois,  not  far  from 
its  mouth,  was  an  open  meadow;  and  here  were 
enacted  scenes  such  as  had  long  made  the  Iro- 
quois hated  and  feared.  The  captives  were  put 

I2S 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

to  horrible  torments:  some  were  roasted  to 
death,  some  skinned  alive.  The  nerves  and  sin- 
ews of  some  were  torn  out;  and  when  their 
tortures  had  done  their  work,  the  heads  and 
even  whole  bodies  of  women  and  children 
were  placed  upon  upright  poles  and  upon  stakes 
driven  into  the  ground. 


XV 

A  SIOUX  WAR  PARTY 

A  little  more  than  seven  months  before  the 
Iroquois  drove  the  Illinois  tribes  out  of  their 
river  valley,  a  band  of  Tamaroas  were  paddling 
in  wooden  dugouts  upon  the  Illinois  River  not 
far  from  the  place  where  later  occurred  the  mas- 
sacre of  so  many  of  their  tribes.  It  was  early 
in  March,  and  throughout  the  land  parties  of 
Indians  of  every  tribe  were  still  roaming  about 
on  their  winter  hunt.  That  they  should  meet 
other  wanderers  along  the  streams  and  trails 
was  therefore  not  surprising.  This  day  they 
chanced  upon  a  single  canoe  coming  down  the 
river.  It  was  not  one  of  the  wooden  pirogues  so 
common  among  their  tribes,  but  a  small  canoe 
of  birch  bark,  and  in  it  were  three  white  men. 
Two  of  them  were  bearded  and  brown  with 
wind  and  weather;  while  the  third  was  smooth 
of  face  and  large  of  frame,  and  was  clothed  in  a 
long  gray  robe. 

The  Tamaroas  had  seen  few  white  men,  but 
like  most  of  the  tribes  of  the  Upper  Mississippi 

127 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

Valley  they  had  heard  of  the  French  fort  near 
the  village  of  their  brother  tribe,  the  Peorias; 
and  they  had  a  keen  desire  to  have  the  whites 
settle  near  their  own  town  and  bring  th£jn 
presents  of  iron  weapons  and  bright-colored' 
pieces  of  cloth.  So  now  they  stopped  the  canoe 
and  begged  the  three  men  to  come  home  with 
them  and  pay  a  visit  to  the  village  of  their  tribe 
on  the  western  shore  of  the  Mississippi  a  little 
way  below  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois. 

One  of  the  bearded  voyagers,  Michael  Ako, 
answered  with  an  excuse,  the  big  gray  friar  nod- 
ding pompous  approval  as  the  canoe  slipped  on 
downstream.  Although  the  time  of  their  par- 
ley was  brief,  the  Indians  had  observed  that  the 
canoe  of  the  whites  was  loaded  not  only  with 
provisions,  but  with  furs  and  merchandise,  and, 
most  important  of  all,  with  guns  and  powder 
and  ball.  They  were  going,  not  down  the  Mis- 
sissippi to  the  village  of  the  Tamaroas  and  their 
southern  neighbors,  but  up  the  Great  River  to 
the  land  of  the  Sioux,  their  enemies. 

Quickly  the  Tamaroas  resolved  that  the 
Sioux  warriors  should  never  lay  hands  on  the 
white  men's  guns.  Already,  armed  only  with 
arrows  and  clubs,  they  were  a  foe  to  be  held  in 

128 


A  SIOUX   WAR   PARTY 

no  light  esteem.  As  countless  as  the  trees  in  the 
woods  and  swift  enough  in  their  bark  canoes  to 
far  outstrip  the  clumsy  Illinois  pirogues,  what 
could  the  Northern  braves  not  do  with  guns? 
There  was  still  a  chance  to  prevent  such  a 
catastrophe. 

The  Tamaroas  could  not  overtake  on  the 
water  the  swift-paddling  white  men.  They 
tried  it  and  the  men  in  the  canoe  only  laughed 
at  them.  But  there  was  a  place  downstream 
quickly  reached  on  foot  and  well  fitted  for  an 
ambuscade.  The  fleet  young  Tamaroas  braves 
darted  across  country  and  were  soon  lying  in 
wait  on  a  narrow  point  jutting  out  into  the 
river.  Unfortunately,  however,  for  the  plans 
of  the  Tamaroas,  they  were  not  careful  enough 
with  their  camp-fire,  and  the  white  men,  seeing 
the  smoke,  stole  quietly  by  near  the  opposite 
shore.  And  so  the  little  bark  canoe  continued 
its  way  to  the  mouth  of  the  Illinois  River;  and 
before  the  end  of  the  month  its  occupants,  the 
friar  Hennepin  and  his  two  companions,  were 
well  on  their  way  up  the  Mississippi. 

While  they  were  pushing  their  bark  with 
difficulty  against  the  current  of  this  strange 
new  stream,  there  was  great  excitement  in  the 

129 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

Sioux  villages  toward  which  they  were  journey- 
ing. Parties  of  Indians  had  gathered  in  the 
war  dance,  and  painted  savages,  stripped  and 
ready  for  battle,  were  leaving  the  towns  of 
the  Sioux  for  the  south.  They  soon  reached  the 
waters  of  the  great  river  not  far  from 
the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  and  from  this  point 
thirty-three  bark  canoes,  manned  by  more 
than  a  hundred  men,  swept  swiftly  downstream. 
The  Sioux  were  embarked  upon  a  war  against 
the  Miamis  and  the  Illinois;  and  bitter  with  the 
desire  for  revenge  was  their  leader,  the  old  chief 
Aquipaguetin,  for  it  was  not  long  since  that  the 
Miamis  had  killed  one  of  his  sons. 

They  had  not  traveled  many  days  when, 
early  one  April  afternoon,  Aquipaguetin  and 
his  Sioux  warriors,  skimming  swiftly  over  the 
waters,  saw  on  the  bank  ahead  of  them  three 
strange  men.  One  of  them,  long  of  body  and 
long  of  robe,  was  busily  gumming  a  bark  canoe 
which  lay  upon  the  shore.  The  other  two  men 
were  engaged  in  boiling  some  meat  in  a  kettle 
over  a  camp-fire.  The  three  men  looked  up  and 
saw  the  swarm  of  Indians  coming  down  upon 
them.  Hastily  they  threw  away  the  fowl  they 
were  cooking,  tossed  the  canoe  into  the  water, 
130 


A  SIOUX   WAR  PARTY 

jumped  to  their  places,  and  began  to  paddle 
upstream  to  meet  the  Sioux  braves. 

Here  was  adventure  already  for  the  eager 
Sioux.  The  young  braves  drew  back  their  bows, 
and  arrows  sped  through  the  air.  While  they 
were  still  some  distance  off,  they  could  hear  the 
men  calling  out  to  them  in  words  of  a  strange 
tongue.  At  last  the  older  men,  having  caught 
sight  of  the  upraised  calumet  of  peace,  held 
back  the  young  braves  with  their  too  impetuous 
weapons. 

In  a  few  moments  the  Sioux  had  reached  the 
canoe  of  the  white  men.  Some  of  the  Indians 
leaped  into  the  water  and  some  on  shore,  com- 
pletely surrounding  the  three  strangers.  Quickly 
the  canoes  all  came  to  land,  and  Aquipaguetin 
and  his  fellow-chiefs  made  the  prisoners  sit 
down  upon  skins  on  the  river  bank.  They  were 
Frenchmen  —  two  bearded  traders  and  a  big 
gray-robed  friar  —  and  around  them  in  circles 
the  Indians  sat.  True,  the  Sioux  had  seized  the 
pipe  of  peace;  but  they  would  not  smoke  it,  for 
they  were  not  yet  ready  for  peace.  Michael 
Ako  understood  the  significance  of  this  conduct 
and  was  troubled. 

Ordinarily  Father  Hennepin  might  have  been 
I3i 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

glad  to  omit  the  smoking  ceremony,  for  ever 
since  his  boyhood  he  had  detested  tobacco 
smoke.  As  a  young  Recollet  friar  he  had  many 
years  before  been  sent  to  the  seacoast  town  of 
Calais,  where  he  heard  the  stories  of  sailors  just 
home  from  the  seas.  Indeed,  so  keen  was  his 
desire  to  hear  accounts  of  travel  and  bold  deeds 
that  he  would  hide  himself  behind  the  doors  of 
taverns,  where  the  sailors  came  to  smoke  and 
drink,  listening  (in  spite  of  the  odor  of  tobacco 
which  made  him  sick)  to  the  tales  of  their  voy- 
ages. But  now,  disagreeable  as  was  the  smoke 
of  tobacco,  he  no  doubt  would  have  gladly 
drawn  deep  upon  the  pipe  of  peace  if  only  he 
could  see  these  Sioux  put  the  calumet  to  their 
lips  and  thus  banish  the  fear  of  an  ever-ready 
tomahawk. 

"The  Miamis!  The  Miamis!  Where  are 
they?"  cried  the  Sioux  in  words  which  even 
Ako,  the  man  learned  in  Indian  tongues,  did  not 
understand  at  first.  At  length  he  caught  their 
meaning;  and  with  a  paddle  he  drew  on  the  sand 
a  diagram  to  show  that  the  Miamis  had  moved 
over  to  the  land  of  the  Illinois  and  were  out  of 
reach  of  the  Sioux  warriors.  This  was  bitter 
news  to  the  war  party.  Three  or  four  of  the  old 

132 


A  SIOUX  WAR  PARTY 

men  laid  their  hands  upon  the  heads  of  the 
white  men  and  burst  into  weeping  and  lamenta- 
tions. Then  with  loud  cries  they  leaped  into 
their  canoes,  forced  their  captives  to  take  up 
their  paddles,  and  crossed  the  river  to  another 
landing-place.  Here  they  held  a  council  as  to 
what  they  should  do  with  the  prisoners. 

The  Sioux  party  decided  to  give  up  their 
expedition  against  the  Miamis,  but  the  disap- 
pointed Aquipaguetin  seemed  bent  upon  the 
killing  of  the  whites.  Two  of  the  chiefs  went  to 
inform  the  captives  by  signs  that  they  were 
to  be  tomahawked.  The  white  men  replied  by 
heaping  axes,  knives,  and  tobacco  at  the  feet  of 
the  crafty  leader  of  the  Indians,  and,  satisfied 
with  the  ransom,  he  said  no  more  for  a  while  of 
slaughter. 

That  night  the  Indians  gave  back  to  the 
white  men  their  calumet,  still  unsmoked.  The 
captives  divided  the  hours  into  three  watches 
lest  they  be  massacred  in  their  sleep.  Hennepin 
was  resolved  to  let  himself  be  killed  without 
resistance,  all  for  the  glory  of  his  faith;  but  Ako 
and  the  Picard  slept  with  their  weapons  close 
to  their  hands. 


XVI 

THE   LAND   OF  THE   SIOUX 

When  morning  came,  Narrhetoba,  one  of  the 
chiefs  of  the  Sioux,  appeared  before  the  white 
men,  asked  for  their  calumet,  filled  it  with  his 
own  tobacco,  and  smoked  it  in  their  presence. 
Henceforth  he  was  their  friend,  despite  the  wiles 
of  the  old  chief  Aquipaguetin.  Taking  to  their 
canoes  that  day,  the  party  with  the  three  white 
captives  paddled  upstream  toward  the  home  of 
the  Sioux. 

Each  day  at  dawn  an  old  man  roused  the 
braves  with  a  cry,  and  before  taking  up  the 
day's  paddling  they  scoured  the  neighborhood 
for  enemies.  For  nearly  three  weeks  they  were 
on  the  way  before  they  drew  near  to  the  Falls  of 
St.  Anthony.  Time  and  again  the  old  chief, 
mourning  over  his  son's  unavenged  death, 
threatened  to  kill  the  whites;  then  with  cove- 
tous fingers  he  would  gather  up  the  gifts  with 
which  he  made  them  buy  their  lives.  Carrying 
with  him  constantly  the  bones  of  a  dead  friend, 
wrapped  in  skins  decorated  with  the  quills  of 

134 


THE   LAND   OF  THE  SIOUX 

porcupines,  he  would  often  lay  this  bundle 
before  the  captives  and  demand  that  they 
cover  the  bones  with  presents  in  honor  of  the 
dead. 

As  they  journeyed  the  old  chief  would  at 
times  break  out  into  a  fierce  temper  and  vow 
the  destruction  of  the  three  strangers.  But  on 
such  occasions  he  would  be  restrained  by  the 
other  chiefs,  who  realized  that  if  they  killed 
these  white  men  no  more  traders  would  come  to 
the  Sioux  country  bringing  merchandise  and 
guns  —  which  they  spoke  of  as  "the  iron  pos- 
sessed by  an  evil  spirit." 

The  Sioux  watched  the  curious  ways  of  Friar 
Hennepin,  and  when  they  saw  him  looking 
upon  an  open  book  and  moving  his  lips  in  mut- 
tered words  they  were  almost  on  the  point  of 
killing  him  —  for  surely  he  was  a  sorcerer  con- 
versing under  his  breath  with  an  evil  spirit  that 
might  be  persuaded  any  moment  to  kill  them 
all.  Ako  and  the  Picard,  seeing  the  effect  of  the 
friar's  devotions,  urged  him  to  leave  off  such 
dangerous  practices.  But  the  stubborn  Henne- 
pin, instead  of  muttering  his  holy  offices,  now 
fell  to  singing  from  the  book  in  a  loud  and  cheer- 
ful voice,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  Indians 

135 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

who  feared  this  far  less  than  the  mumbled 
undertones. 

At  last  they  left  the  river  not  far  from  the 
Falls  of  St.  Anthony  and  hurried  away  north- 
ward toward  the  villages  that  lay  in  the  region 
of  the  broad  Mille  Lac,  the  long-limbed  Sioux 
covering  the  ground  with  great  speed.  They 
waded  streams  covered  by  a  coat  of  ice  from 
the  frost  of  the  night  before.  Neither  Ako  nor 
the  Picard  could  swim,  and  so  they  often  passed 
over  on  the  backs  of  the  Sioux.  Hennepin  was 
not  built  for  speed,  and  the  Indians,  impatient 
at  his  slow  progress,  set  fire  to  the  prairie  behind 
him  and  then,  taking  his  hands,  hurried  the 
frightened  man  of  prayer  ahead  of  the  licking 
flames.  When  they  came  to  the  first  village  the 
war  party  finally  separated,  each  Sioux  going 
to  his  own  home  town. 

The  poor  Picard,  unable  to  conceal  his  grow- 
ing fears,  had  roused  the  quick  contempt  of  the 
Sioux,  who  seized  him  with  no  gentle  hands,  for 
they  saw  in  him  a  coward  deserving  of  no  such 
respect  as  they  willingly  bestowed  upon  his 
sterner  friend  Ako.  He  should  be  treated  like 
an  ordinary  Indian  captive.  So  they  painted 
his  head  and  face  with  different  colors,  fastened 

136 


THE   LAND  OF   THE   SIOUX 

a  tuft  of  feathers  in  his  hair,  placed  in  his  hand 
a  gourd  filled  with  small  round  stones,  and 
made  him  sing  shaking  his  rattle  in  the  air  to 
keep  time  to  the  music. 

Yet  like  the  tribes  of  the  Illinois  Valley,  the 
Sioux  were  a  hospitable  people.  They  fed  the 
white  men  with  fish  and  with  wild  rice,  seasoned 
with  blueberries,  and  served  upon  dishes  made 
of  birch  bark.  Then  they  proceeded  to  divide 
among  themselves  such  supplies  as  still  re- 
mained in  the  hands  of  the  white  men.  Three 
chieftains,  moreover,  living  in  as  many  villages, 
adopted  the  three  prisoners  and  carried  them 
off  to  their  homes.  Perhaps  Ako  was  not  sorry 
to  part  with  the  friar,  for  the  boastful  ways  of 
Hennepin  had  sorely  tried  his  patience. 

It  was  the  old  chief  Aquipaguetin  who 
adopted  Hennepin  into  his  own  family  to  take 
the  place  of  the  son  he  had  lost.  He  gave  the 
friar  a  great  robe  of  ten  beaver  skins,  trimmed 
with  porcupine  quills,  and  bade  his  half-dozen 
Indian  wives  treat  him  as  a  chieftain's  son. 
And  when  he  observed  how  fatigued  Hennepin 
was  after  the  long  journey,  the  chief  ordered 
that  a  sweat-bath  be  prepared  for  him. 

A  sweat-house  was  set  up,  covered  tightly 
137 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

with  buffalo  skins.  Through  a  small  opening, 
which  was  closed  behind  them,  Hennepin  and 
four  braves  entered,  stripped  to  the  skin.  In  the 
middle  of  this  house,  red-hot  stones  had  been 
placed,  and  these,  now  sprinkled  with  water, 
gave  off  clouds  of  steam.  As  the  perspiration 
poured  from  the  men's  bodies  the  four  Indians 
laid  their  hands  upon  the  friar  and  rubbed  him 
briskly;  and  when  he  was  on  the  point  of  faint- 
ing with  weakness  he  was  carried  out  of  the 
sweat-house  and  covered  again  with  his  robe. 
Three  times  a  week  the  friar  was  given  this 
sweat-bath,  which  he  said  made  him  as  well 
as  ever. 

Hennepin  and  many  of  his  belongings  were  a 
mystery  to  the  Sioux  Indians.  His  shaven  head 
and  face  aroused  their  admiration,  and  so  they 
put  him  to  work  shaving  the  heads  of  the  young 
boys.  He  also  bled  the  sick,  and  the  strange 
medicines  he  carried  about  with  him  performed 
many  a  useful  purpose  among  the  ailing  Sioux. 
He  had  brought  with  him  an  iron  pot  with  three 
feet  moulded  in  the  shape  of  lion  paws.  This 
the  Sioux  dared  not  touch,  unless  they  first 
wrapped  their  hands  in  a  buffalo  or  deer  skin. 
Not  daring  to  keep  it  in  the  tepees  or  lodges,  the 

138 


THE   LAND  OF  THE  SIOUX 

women  with  great  fear  in  their  hearts  hung  it 
up  outside  on  the  limb  of  a  tree. 

In  two  other  towns  of  the  Sioux  lived  Ako 
and  the  Picard  in  primitive  Indian  fashion. 
The  villagers  found  Ako  a  man  after  their  own 
hearts,  for  he  had  lived  with  Indians,  enjoyed 
their  wild  life,  and  knew  their  ways  as  did  few 
white  men.  Gradually  he  learned  the  language 
of  the  Sioux,  as  he  had  learned  the  tongues  of 
other  tribes  who  dwelt  in  the  river  valleys  to 
the  south  and  east. 

In  their  home  country  which  stretched  west 
and  north  for  many  a  league,  the  Sioux  tribes 
lived  for  the  most  part  in  groups  of  tepees  — 
lodges  far  different  from  the  rounded  houses 
of  the  Illinois.  In  building  the  tepee,  which  was 
small  and  conical  in  shape,  the  squaws  first 
planted  about  twenty  poles  in  a  circle  and  then 
bound  them  together  near  the  top  with  a  stout 
leather  thong.  This  framework  was  covered 
with  buffalo  hides,  sewed  tightly  together  into 
one  piece  with  a  flap  for  an  entrance  which  was 
always  toward  the  east.  From  the  fire  in  the 
center  of  the  tepee  the  smoke  rose  and  passed 
out  of  a  hole  where  the  poles  were  joined  at' 
the  top.   Some  of  the  Sioux,  however,  lived  in 

139 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

so-called  bark  lodges,  which  were  made  with  a 
ridgepole  and  roofed  with  the  bark  of  the  elm 
tree. 

The  spring  months  of  1680,  as  they  grew 
warmer  and  ran  into  summer,  found  the  Sioux 
braves  in  the  villages  near  Mille  Lac  eagerly- 
looking  forward  to  a  buffalo  hunt.  Aquipa- 
guetin  urged  his  foster  son  to  join  the  party  in 
a  long  trip  to  the  southwest.  But  Hennepin 
wanted  now  to  get  back  to  civilization,  for  he 
had  found  little  success  in  his  ministry.  So  he 
asked  permission  to  make  a  journey  down  to 
the  mouth  of  the  Wisconsin,  where  he  said  La 
Salle  had  promised  to  send  men  with  supplies 
and  merchandise.  After  some  discussion  the 
Sioux  bade  him  do  as  he  wished  and  take  the 
Picard  with  him.  Accordingly  when  the  buffalo 
hunters  gathered  together  from  the  various 
villages,  the  Picard  once  more  joined  his  friend 
the  friar.  Ako,  on  the  other  hand,  not  loath  to 
see  them  go,  cast  his  lot  in  with  the  hunters. 

With  Ouasicoude,  or  the  Pierced  Pine,  the 
greatest  chief  of  all  the  Sioux,  as  their  leader, 
the  hunting  party  followed  the  stream  now 
known  as  the  Rum  River  until  it  fell  into  the 
Mississippi  a  few  leagues  above  the  Falls  of  St. 

140 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  SIOUX 

Anthony.  Here  the  women  of  the  party  halted 
to  commence  work  on  birch-bark  canoes. 
While  awaiting  the  arrival  of  those  who  had 
gone  to  collect  long  strips  of  bark,  the  women 
set  up  frames  or  little  docks  of  poles  upon  which 
to  build  the  canoes.  The  buffalo  hunters,  hav- 
ing first  sent  a  few  of  their  number  down  to  the 
Falls  to  offer  a  sacrifice  to  the  spirit  of  the 
water,  set  off  on  their  trip  with  Ako  in  their 
midst;  and  Friar  Hennepin  and  the  Picard 
started  down  the  Mississippi  alone  in  their 
canoe,  hoping  to  reach  the  band  of  whites  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Wisconsin. 


XVII 

A  BUFFALO  HUNT 

Into  a  tree  that  stood  beside  the  Falls  of  St. 
Anthony,  a  devout  Sioux  climbed,  weeping 
and  lamenting  bitterly  as  he  fastened  to  the 
branches  a  fine  beaver  skin.  On  the  inside  the 
skin  had  been  carefully  dressed  and  painted 
white,  and  it  was  decorated  with  the  quills  of  a 
porcupine.  And  while  he  offered  this  sacrifice  to 
the  spirit  of  the  Falls,  he  cried  out  in  a  loud 
voice :  — 

"Thou  who  art  a  spirit,  grant  that  our  nation 
may  pass  here  quietly  without  accident,  may 
kill  buffalo  in  abundance,  conquer  our  enemies 
and  bring  in  slaves,  some  of  whom  we  will  put 
to  death  before  thee.  The  Foxes  have  killed  our 
kindred.  Grant  that  we  may  avenge  them." 

Unk-ta-he,  the  god  who  dwelt  under  the 
Falls  of  St.  Anthony,  must  have  heard  his 
prayer,  for  all  that  he  asked  was  granted.  Many 
buffalo  fell  to  the  lot  of  the  hunters,  and  later  in 
the  season  they  attacked  the  nation  of  Foxes 
and  great  was  their  victory.     They  brought 

142 


A   BUFFALO   HUNT 

their  captives  home  to  offer  to  the  spirit  that 
had  given  them  such  glorious  success. 

On  this  early  July  day  Hennepin  and  the 
timid  Picard,  looking  up  as  they  made  the 
portage  around  the  Falls,  saw  the  Sioux  pre- 
senting his  ornamented  robe  and  heard  him 
offer  up  his  prayer.  Then  they  pushed  their 
canoe  into  the  water  and  took  up  their  journey 
upon  the  stream  that  shot  out  so  swiftly  from 
the  foot  of  the  Falls.  The  Sioux  climbed  down 
out  of  the  tree  and  joined  his  friends  on  their 
hunt  along  the  river  and  out  over  the  plains. 

The  crafty  Aquipaguetin  was  with  them,  and 
as  the  days  went  by  he  kept  thinking  of  the 
story  Hennepin  had  told  him  of  other  white 
men  sent  out  by  La  Salle  with  merchandise  and 
arms  to  the  mouth  of  the  Wisconsin.  Why 
should  he  not  meet  these  men  himself  and 
receive  their  first  lavish  presents?  Finally  he 
could  no  longer  restrain  himself,  and  taking 
with  him  about  ten  men  he  paddled  down  the 
river  after  Hennepin  and  the  Picard.  The  two 
white  men  had  had  many  adventures.  In  their 
hunting  they  had  not  been  fortunate,  and  many 
times  they  had  come  near  to  starvation.  Once 
they  had  passed  two  days  without  food,  when 

143 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

they  came  upon  some  buffalo  crossing  the  river. 
The  Picard  managed  to  shoot  one  of  the  cows  in 
the  head.  The  animal  being  too  heavy  to  haul 
ashore,  they  cut  it  into  pieces  in  the  water. 
Then  they  feasted  so  heartily  that  for  several 
days  they  were  too  sick  to  resume  the  journey. 

Hennepin  and  the  Picard  were  yet  some  dis- 
tance above  the  Wisconsin  when  Aquipaguetin 
overtook  them.  He  did  not  stop  long,  but  dipped 
paddle  once  more  and  soon  reached  the  mouth 
of  the  river  where  Marquette,  seven  years 
before,  had  first  seen  the  Mississippi.  There  he 
halted  and  looked  about  for  signs  of  white  men. 
No  camp  was  beside  the  river,  nor  did  any  smoke 
rise  as  far  as  his  eye  could  reach.  Having 
searched  in  vain  he  at  length  turned  northward 
with  great  wrath  to  seek  out  his  foster  son. 

The  Picard  had  gone  off  to  hunt  and  the  friar 
was  alone  under  a  shelter  they  had  set  up  to  pro- 
tect them  from  the  sun.  Glancing  up  he  saw  his 
foster  father  coming  toward  him,  club  in  hand. 
In  terror  of  his  life,  he  reached  for  a  pair  of  the 
Picard's  pistols  and  a  knife.  Perhaps  the  friar, 
armed  with  these  unholy  weapons,  daunted  the 
chief,  for  he  contented  himself  with  showering 
upon  his  adopted  son  maledictions  for  camping 

144 


A  BUFFALO   HUNT 

on  the  wrong  side  of  the  river  and  thus  exposing 
himself  rashly  to  the  enemy.  Then  he  pushed 
on  to  rejoin  his  fellow-Sioux. 

The  party  of  hunters  had  now  turned  south, 
and  in  a  few  days  they  came  upon  Hennepin 
and  the  Picard,  who  joined  them  on  the  trail  of 
big  game.  Many  leagues  down  the  Mississippi 
they  hunted  for  buffalo,  and  altogether  they 
captured  a  hundred  and  twenty  of  the  shaggy 
beasts.  While  on  the  chase  it  was  their  practice 
to  post  old  men  on  high  points  of  the  cliffs  and 
neighboring  hills  to  keep  watch  for  enemies. 
One  day  Hennepin  was  busy  with  a  sharp  knife 
trying  to  cut  a  long  thorn  out  of  an  Indian's 
foot  when  an  alarm  was  given  in  the  camp. 
Two  hundred  bowmen  sprang  to  their  arms  and 
ran  in  the  direction  of  the  alarm.  Not  to  be  left 
out  of  the  fighting,  the  Indian  with  the  wounded 
foot  jumped  up  likewise  and  ran  off  as  fast  as 
any  of  them.  The  women  started  a  mournful 
song,  which  they  kept  up  until  the  men  re- 
turned to  say  that  it  was  not  an  enemy,  but  a 
herd  of  nearly  a  hundred  stags. 

A  few  days  later  the  men  from  their  high 
posts  announced  that  there  were  two  warriors 
in  the  distance.   Again  the  young  braves  ran 

145 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON  HAND 

out  only  to  find  two  Sioux  women  who  had 
come  to  tell  the  chiefs  that  a  party  of  Sioux, 
hunting  near  the  end  of  Lake  Superior,  had 
found  five  other  white  men  who  were  coming 
south  to  learn  more  about  the  three  whites  with 
Ouasicoude's  band. 

Returning  from  their  hunt  some  days  later, 
they  met  these  five  new  white  men.  Their 
leader  was  the  Sieur  Du  Luth,  a  famous  hunter 
and  explorer  who  had  come  into  the  upper 
end  of  the  Mississippi  Valley  by  way  of  Lake 
Superior,  and  with  him  were  four  French  cou- 
nters de  bois.  Du  Luth  was  a  cousin  of  Henry 
de  Tonty,  and  with  great  eagerness  did  he  hear 
from  Ako  and  his  friends  the  story  of  the  band 
of  whites  who  had  settled  at  the  Peoria  village 
and  of  the  fort  they  had  built  beside  the  Illi- 
nois River. 

There  were  eight  white  men  now  in  the  band 
that  journeyed  northward  toward  the  Sioux 
towns  about  the  Lake.  The  Indians  soon  made 
up  their  minds  that  Du  Luth  was  a  man  of 
power  among  the  whites  —  more  so,  perhaps, 
than  Ako,  the  leader  of  the  first  three  visitors 
who  had  come  into  their  country.  But  neither 
Ako  nor  Du  Luth  seemed  to  hold  the  gray- 

146 


A  BUFFALO   HUNT 

robed  friar  in  the  high  esteem  to  which  he 
thought  himself  entitled. 

When  they  had  arrived  at  the  villages  the 
Sioux  gave  a  great  feast  to  the  palefaces,  who 
had  come  into  their  country  from  the  south; 
and  from  the  north,  and  for  more  than  a  month 
red  men  and  white  lived  together  in  peace,  each 
learning  from  the  other.  September  drew  near 
to  a  close,  and  as  winter  approached  the  white 
men  grew  anxious  to  return  to  their  own  kind. 
They  secured  the  consent  of  Ouasicoude,  who 
with  his  own  hand  traced  for  them  a  map  of  the 
route  they  would  need  to  take. 

With  this  chart  they  embarked  in  two  canoes 
upon  the  Rum  River,  and  a  few  days  later  they 
had  reached  the  Mississippi  and  were  carrying 
their  light  craft  around  the  Falls  of  St.  Anthony. 
Here  two  of  Du  Luth's  men,  much  to  their 
leader's  wrath,  stole  robes  which  were  hanging 
in  the  trees  as  sacrifices  to  the  spirit  of 
the  water.  They  stopped  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Wisconsin  to  smoke  the  meat  of  some  buffalo 
they  had  killed.  While  they  were  camped  at 
this  point,  three  Sioux  came  to  tell  them  of 
something  which  had  happened  since  they  had 
left  the  northern  villages.    A  party  of  Sioux, 

147 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

led  by  one  of  the  chiefs,  had  plotted  to  follow 
after  the  eight  white  men  and  kill  and  plunder 
them.  But  Ouasicoude,  the  Pierced  Pine,  the 
ever  friendly  chief,  was  so  enraged  that  he 
went  to  the  lodge  of  the  chief  of  the  conspirators 
and  in  the  presence  of  his  friends  tomahawked 
him. 

Thankful  for  their  deliverance,  the  whites 
paddled  their  canoes  up  the  Wisconsin  River, 
crossed  the  portage  to  the  Fox  River,  and  fol- 
lowed that  stream  to  Green  Bay  and  its  settle- 
ments of  French  priests  and  traders.  Mean- 
time back  in  the  country  they  had  left,  the 
Sioux  were  waging  fierce  war  with  the  Illinois 
and  other  nations  of  the  South.  Paessa,  a 
Kaskaskia  chief  who  had  left  the  village  of  his 
people,  in  spite  of  Tonty's  remonstrances,  be- 
fore the  coming  of  the  Iroquois,  had  led  a  party 
of  Illinois  braves  into  the  fastnesses  of  the 
Upper  Mississippi  against  their  long-time  foes. 

In  the  valley  of  the  Illinois  and  in  the  valleys 
of  the  rivers  which  flowed  together  to  make  the 
current  of  the  mighty  Mississippi,  no  white 
man  was  now  to  be  found.  When  the  first 
snows  came,  the  tribes  of  the  Upper  Mississippi 
found  themselves  with  a  few  guns  and  knives 

148 


§ 


A  BUFFALO  HUNT 


and  bits  of  bright  cloth  and  the  memory  of  the 
white  man's  ways.  But  instead  of  the  pale- 
faced  Frenchmen,  who  came  bearing  presents 
and  asking  for  peace,  they  now  had  with  them, 
skulking  through  their  valleys,  the  faithless 
Iroquois,  with  hands  red  with  the  blood  of  con- 
quered nations  and  hearts  seared  with  the 
flames  with  which  they  burned  their  captives. 


XVIII 

THE  MIAMIS   REPENT 

The  camp-fires  of  five  hundred  Iroquois 
glowed  in  the  frosty  night  air,  the  smoke  hover- 
ing above  like  a  drifting  cloud  under  the  moon. 
Some  of  the  five  hundred  lay  sleeping,  their 
weapons  close  to  their  hands,  while  others  were 
standing  guard  against  possible  danger.  Many 
weeks  had  passed  since  they  had  hounded  the 
Illinois  out  of  the  valley  of  the  river  that  bore 
their  name,  and  now  all  up  and  down  its  length 
was  quiet.  No  Illinois  village  along  the  shores 
sent  the  smoke  of  its  lodge-fires  upwards.  No 
winter  hunting  party  camped  by  the  frozen 
stream.  At  the  same  time,  though  deserted  by 
its  ancient  dwellers,  the  valley  was  not  wanting 
signs  of  the  thing  which  had  caused  their  de- 
parture. The  moon  which  that  night  hung  over 
the  returning  Iroquois  shone  upon  all  the  length 
of  the  river,  revealing  scenes  for  a  hundred 
leagues  that  spoke  as  plainly  of  the  Iroquois 
passing  as  does  the  track  in  fresh  snow  tell  of 
the  passing  of  a  wolf. 

ISO 


THE  MIAMIS  REPENT 

The  trail  began  at  the  great  village  of  the 
Kaskaskias.  Here  the  pale  light  fell  upon  the 
half-burned  ruins  of  lodges,  the  scattered  con- 
tents of  the  caches,  the  desecrated  graveyard, 
and  the  wolves  that  with  savage  howls  still 
hung  about  the  town  their  human  cousins  had 
ravaged.  Down  the  river  went  the  trail  marked 
by  ashes  of  deserted  camps,  past  the  lodges  of 
the  Peorias,  the  ruined  Fort  Crevecceur,  and 
the  ribs  of  the  unfinished  ship  gleaming  white 
in  the  moonlight.  Then  came  the  ashes  of  more 
camps,  always  facing  each  other  as  they  fol- 
lowed the  river  down  to  the  open  meadow  near 
the  mouth  where  stood  the  grim  figures  of  the 
tortured  Tamaroas. 

No,  the  trail  of  the  Iroquois  was  not  hard  to 
trace  in  the  Illinois  Valley.  Nor  was  it  a  diffi- 
cult task  for  an  Indian  to  find  the  route  they 
had  taken  when,  after  massacring  the  Tama- 
roas, they  had  moved  across  country  to  the  val- 
ley of  the  Ohio  River  many  leagues  to  the 
southeast.  The  Iroquois  warriors,  proud  of  their 
victories  and  glorying .  in  their  cruel  deeds, 
traveled  with  little  fear.  Laden  with  furs  and 
plunder,  with  scores  of  Illinois  slaves  in  their 
camp,  they  did  not  know  that  they  were  being 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

followed.  But  they  were.  The  Kaskaskia  chief, 
Paessa,  who  had  set  out  with  a  war  band 
against  the  Sioux  before  the  Iroquois  raid,  had 
now  come  back  to  the  valley  of  his  nation  only 
to  find  ruins  and  the  well-marked  trail  of  the 
Iroquois. 

There  were  only  a  hundred  in  the  band,  but 
in  their  desire  for  revenge  they  knew  no  such 
thing  as  numbers.  With  fury  adding  to  their 
speed  they  started  upon  the  track  of  the  enemy 
and  now  night  by  night  through  the  Ohio  Val- 
ley their  camp-fires  were  coming  nearer  to  those 
of  the  Iroquois.  The  Iroquois  were  moving  on 
toward  home.  Far  to  the  east  lay  their  villages 
of  long  houses  in  the  land  where  the  Ohio  River 
had  its  northern  source.  They  had  scattered 
the  Illinois  and  devastated  their  country.  The 
weaker  Miamis  they  had  not  harmed,  perhaps 
because  they  had  not  yet  found  it  to  their 
advantage.  But  now  they  were  entering  the 
hunting-grounds  of  the  Miamis  who  ranged 
from  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois  south  as  far  as  the 
Ohio. 

They  happened  one  day  upon  a  party  of 
Miami  hunters  and  without  hesitation  the 
Iroquois  fell  upon  them,   killing  some  and 

IS2 


THE  MIAMIS  REPENT 

adding  others  to  the  Illinois  prisoners  whom 
they  were  carrying  home.  The  winter  de- 
scended upon  them  with  such  vigor  that  they 
halted  and  built  three  forts  at  the  corners  of  a 
triangle,  each  fort  at  two  leagues  distance  from 
the  others.  Here  the  Miamis  sent  a  delegation 
asking  for  the  release  of  their  captives.  But 
they  were  mocked  at  by  the  vainglorious  Iro- 
quois. Then  they  offered  a  present  of  three 
thousand  beaver  skins  as  a  ransom  for  their 
men.  The  overbearing  conquerors,  having 
attacked  their  own  allies,  now  committed  an 
unpardonable  sin  against  Indian  custom.  They 
accepted  the  gift  of  the  Miamis,  but  refused 
to  release  their  captives.  The  Miamis  sadly 
realized  that  they  had  deserted  their  neighbors, 
the  Illinois,  only  to  ally  themselves  to  a  band  of 
traitors. 

The  winter  did  not  halt  the  avenging  party 
under  Paessa.  And  one  night  the  daring  band 
slipped  between  two  of  the  forts  and  pitched 
camp  in  the  middle  of  the  Iroquois  triangle. 
At  daybreak  some  in  those  forts  should  taste 
death  for  the  outraged  graveyard  and  for 
the  trampled  meadow  where  Tamaroas  had 
died. 

153 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

But  that  same  night  two  Iroquois  hunters 
saw  their  camp-fire  and  approached  to  see  who 
they  were.  One  of  the  two  had  entered  the 
camp  when  a  young  and  rash  Illinois  brave, 
unable  to  contain  himself,  leaped  upon  him  and 
struck  him  dead.  Quick  as  a  flash  the  other  was 
gone.  Their  secret  was  out.  Surprise  was  now 
impossible  and  the  band  prepared  for  a  terrific 
encounter.  It  came  with  the  daylight.  On 
every  side  the  Iroquois  bore  down  upon  them. 
Outnumbered  five  to  one,  the  brave  Illinois  held 
their  ground  all  through  the  winter  day.  At 
evening  both  sides  withdrew.  A  third  of  the 
dauntless  hundred  were  dead,  among  them  the 
gallant  Paessa.  Yet  with  the  morning  the 
unconquerable  band  again  took  up  the  fight. 
Three  times  they  hurled  themselves  upon  the 
enemy.  At  last,  seeing  the  hopelessness  of  their 
battle,  they  drew  away  and  cleared  themselves 
from  the  hated  triangle. 

The  news  of  these  battles  in  the  Ohio  Valley 
passed  quickly  throughout  the  Miami  tribes. 
The  chiefs  at  the  great  village  on  the  head- 
waters of  the  Kankakee,  near  the  foot  of  the 
Lake  of  the  Illinois,  pondered  over  the  situation 
in  council  with  much  concern.  They  had  allied 

IS4 


THE  MIAMIS   REPENT 

themselves  with  the  Iroquois  against  the  Illinois, 
and  now  their  Iroquois  allies  had  treacherously 
attacked  them.  In  view  of  the  indomitable 
courage  which  the  Illinois  had  just  displayed  in 
the  battle  of  the  triangle,  what  would  happen 
to  the  Miamis  when  the  Iroquois  were  gone  and 
the  Illinois  tribes  came  back  to  avenge  them- 
selves upon  their  neighbors  ? 

They  had  other  important  things  to  think 
about  as  well.  A  few  leagues  north  of  their  vil- 
lage, where  the  St.  Joseph  River  emptied  into 
the  Lake,  there  had  lain  for  many  months  the 
ruins  of  Fort  Miami,  built  a  year  before  by 
La  Salle  and  demolished  in  April  by  the  de- 
serters from  Fort  Crevecceur.  But  now  Fort 
Miami  was  rebuilt;  for  out  of  the  East  La  Salle 
had  come  again.  Away  back  in  July  on  dis- 
tant Lake  Ontario  he  had  found  some  of 
the  Fort  Crevecceur  deserters,  shot  two  who 
showed  fight,  and  captured  the  rest.  Then  he 
had  set  out  to  the  Illinois  country  to  rescue 
Tonty ;  but  it  was  November  before  he  landed  at 
the  mouth  of  the  St.  Joseph  River.  On  the  day 
that  his  canoes  touched  shore,  Tonty,  sick  and 
more  than  half-starved,  was  struggling  north- 
ward along  the  west  shore  of  the  Lake,  trying 

155 


\ 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

to  reach  the  French  settlements  with  the  news  of 
the  Iroquois  raid. 

La  Salle  left  some  of  his  men  to  rebuild  the 
fort  and  pushed  on  down  the  Kankakee,  his 
anxiety  for  Tonty  steadily  increasing.  At  the 
Kaskaskia  village  he  struck  the  trail  the  Iro- 
quois had  left  behind  them,  and  followed  it 
down  the  river  to  the  meadow  of  massacre  near 
the  mouth.  Nowhere  did  he  find  trace  of  Tonty, 
and  with  heavy  heart  he  came  back  to  his  men 
at  Fort  Miami.  In  his  absence  a  band  of  New 
England  Indians,  mostly  Abenakis  and  Mohe- 
gans,  had  pitched  their  lodges  about  the  fort, 
and  when  La  Salle  appeared  they  joined  them- 
selves to  his  party  and  swore  to  follow  him  as 
their  chief. 

One  important  fact  now  stood  out  clearly  in 
the  mind  of  La  Salle.  If  he  was  to  accomplish 
anything  in  the  exploration  and  settlement 
of  the  Mississippi  Valley,  he  must  bring  the 
Miamis,  the  Illinois,  the  Shawnees,  and  other 
inhabitants  of  the  Great  Valley  into  such  firm 
alliance  with  each  other  and  with  himself  that 
they  need  have  no  fear  from  Iroquois  or  any 
other  invaders.  If  he  could  get  such  an  alliance 
started,  he  would  feel  free  to  make  his  long- 

156 


THE  MIAMIS  REPENT 

delayed  trip  to  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi 
and  open  up  trade  by  that  means  with  France 
across  the  seas.  With  this  in  mind  he  took  fif- 
teen men  and  set  out  on  the  1st  of  March  to 
open  communication  with  the  Illinois,  occa- 
sional bands  of  whom  were  beginning  to  wander 
back  into  their  valley. 

The  men  traveled  easily  over  the  snow  with 
their  snowshoes,  but  the  glare  of  the  sun  was  so 
intense  that  La  Salle  was  stricken  for  several 
days  with  snow-blindness.  While  he  lay  suffer- 
ing, unable  to  see  or  to  sleep,  some  of  his  men 
came  upon  tracks  which  led  them  to  the  lodges 
of  a  hunting  party  of  Fox  Indians,  from  whom 
they  learned  to  their  great  joy  that  Tonty  was 
alive  and  had  reached  a  village  of  Pottawat- 
tomies  on  Green  Bay.  They  also  learned  that 
Ako  and  Hennepin  and  the  Picard  had  re- 
turned safely  to  the  settlements  on  the  Lake. 

Pressing  on  down  the  valley,  not  long  after- 
wards, he  met  with  a  band  of  Illinois.  They 
told. him. the  story  of  the  Iroquois  raid  and 
showed  him  letters  from  black-robed  priests, 
which  had  been  given  them  by  the  Iroquois. 
These  letters  seemed  to  be  in  the  nature  of  pass- 
ports safeguarding  the  Iroquois  in  case  of  their 

157 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

capture  by  the  Illinois.  The  Illinois  added  that 
their  enemies  had  other  letters  addressed  to 
Father  Allouez,  and  they  interpreted  the  whole 
affair  as  meaning  that  the  Black  Gowns  wished 
them  to  be  attacked. 

Now  La  Salle  had  for  many  years  disliked  the 
Jesuits,  and  he  had  accused  them  of  trying 
to  block  his  plans  and  wreck  his  enterprises. 
Especially  did  he  hate  the  black-robed  Father 
Allouez.  The  priest  knew  this,  and  it  was  the 
news  of  La  Salle's  coming  that  had  caused  him 
to  slip  out  of  the  village  of  the  Kaskaskias  on 
that  Christmas  Eve  of  1679.  But  now  La  Salle 
wished  to  quiet  the  fears  of  the  Illinois,  and  so 
he  assured  them  that  their  distrust  of  the  black- 
robed  priests  was  groundless.  He  told  them  of 
his  plans  to  start  a  colony  in  the  Illinois  Valley 
and  settle  many  French  soldiers  there  to  pro- 
tect the  tribes  that  made  their  homes  along  the 
river;  and  he  urged  them  to  make  friends  again 
with  the  Miamis  and  join  forces  with  them 
against  their  common  foe  from  the  outside. 

The  Illinois  were  well  pleased  with  the  plans 
of  La  Salle,  and  they  went  off  promising  to  carry 
his  message  to  their  people.  La  Salle  sent  a 
messenger  to  tell  Tonty  to  wait  for  him  at 

IS8 


THE  MIAMIS  REPENT 

Mackinac,  and  then  returned  to  his  fort  on  the 
St.  Joseph.  He  had  made  a  beginning  with  the 
Illinois;  his  next  step  was  to  bring  the  Miamis 
into  an  alliance. 

In  the  Miami  village  south  of  his  fort,  during 
this  time,  there  was  much  uncertainty.  The 
Indians  watched  the  white  men's  movements 
with  anxiety  and  dreaded  the  wrath  of  the 
Illinois  when  they  should  return.  Yet  the  Iro- 
quois still  seemed  to  hold  them  under  a  spell. 
Into  the  Miami  village  that  spring  came  three 
Iroquois  warriors,  swaggering  and  boastful. 
But  in  spite  of  their  treachery  the  Miamis  dared 
not  harm  them.  The  visitors  told  of  their  feats 
of  battle,  derided  the  French,  and  urged  the 
Miamis  to  continue  the  war  against  the  Illinois. 

But  one  fine  spring  day  La  Salle  himself,  with 
ten  of  the  despised  Frenchmen  and  a  handful 
of  New  England  Indians,  entered  the  village. 
With  curious  eyes  the  Miamis  watched  the 
boastful  Iroquois.  Would  they  defy  the  French 
now?  Upon  the  moment  of  La  Salle's  arrival, 
the  three  warriors  made  haste  to  visit  him  and 
pay  him  devout  respect.  But  the  white  chief 
received  them  coldly,  threatened  them,  and 
dared  them  to  say  in  his  presence  what  they  had 

159 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

said  before  his  coming.  Abashed  and  silent  they 
slunk  away  and  fled  from  the  village  that  night. 
The  Miamis  had  had  their  lesson  —  a  lesson 
which  they  had  been  slow  to  learn.  The  dis- 
comfiture of  the  boasting  Iroquois  had  broken 
the  last  tie  that  held  them  to  their  false  friends 
of  the  Five  Nations.  They  came  together  now 
in  a  grand  council  with  La  Salle  in  the  lodge  of 
the  principal  chief,  and  in  order  that  all  might 
hear  they  stripped  the  bark  sides  from  the  lodge 
and  opened  it  up  to  the  throng  outside. 


XIX 

A  CHIEF   COME  TO   LIFE 

When  the  Miamis  had  assembled  in  and 
about  the  open  lodge  of  the  chief,  La  Salle  had 
one  of  the  New  England  Indians  bring  into  the 
council  the  presents  which  he  wished  to  give. 
Then  he  chose  first  from  the  pile  a  roll  of  to- 
bacco, and  presenting  it  to  the  Miamis  said :  — 

"May  this  tobacco,  as  you  smoke  it  in  your 
pipes,  clear  the  mists  from  your  minds,  that  you 
may  think  without  confusion. 

"And  this,"  he  said,  laying  down  a  piece  of 
blue  cloth,  "  is  to  cover  the  bodies  of  your  rela- 
tives just  killed  by  the  Iroquois.  May  it  turn 
your  eyes  from  their  dead  forms  to  the  peaceful 
blue  sky  where  the  sun  shines  so  brightly. 

"And  here  is  a  piece  of  red  cloth  to  cover  the 
earth  so  that  you  may  see  no  longer  the  blood 
of  your  brethren.  Its  color  is  like  that  with 
which  you  paint  your  faces  for  a  feast,  and  will 
mean  to  you  that  hereafter  you  will  always  live 
in  pleasure  and  joy. 

"Here  are  cloaks  to  cover  the  bodies  of  the 
161 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

loved  ones  you  have  lost.  May  they  be  a  mark 
of  our  esteem  and  friendship.  And  take  these 
fifty  hatchets  to  help  you  raise  a  magnificent 
tomb  in  their  memory.  And  those  who  have  no 
beautiful  ornaments  to  wear  in  the  feast  which 
you  will  give  to  those  who  are  gone  —  let  them 
wear  these  necklaces  and  bracelets,  these  rings 
and  glass  beads  and  little  bells,  and  let  them 
paint  themselves  with  this  paint." 

Then  he  drew  forth  thirty  sword  blades  and, 
stooping  over,  he  planted  them  in  a  circle  in 
the  dirt  floor  of  the  lodge,  around  and  inclosing 
the  presents  he  had  given. 

"And  so,"  he  said,  "will  I  make  a  palisade  of 
iron  about  you  so  that  the  bodies  of  your  dead 
friends  may  receive  no  harm." 

He  straightened  himself  beside  the  circle  of 
iron,  and  while  the  Miamis  within  the  lodge  and 
outside  watched  him  he  continued:  — 

"Your  dead  friends  must  be  contented  now. 
We  have  paid  them  our  reverence.  They  will 
only  ask  further  that  we  let  them  lie  in  peace; 
that  we  wipe  away  our  tears  and  take  care  of 
the  loved  ones  who  step  into  their  places.  But  I 
wish  to  do  more  than  this. 

"I  know  how  sadly  you  have  mourned  foi 
162 


A  CHIEF  COME  TO  LIFE 

Ouabicolcata,  your  great  chief  who  is  dead. 
Think  of  him  no  longer  as  dead.  His  spirit  and 
his  soul  have  come  to  life  once  more  in  my  body. 
I  will  raise  his  name  among  you.  I  am  another 
Ouabicolcata,  and  I  will  take  the  same  good 
care  of  his  family  as  he  did  while  he  lived.  No 
more  am  I  Okimao  as  you  used  to  call  me. 
Henceforth  my  name  is  Ouabicolcata.  Your 
chief  lives  again  in  the  body  of  a  Frenchman 
who  is  able  to  give  you  all  the  things  which  you 
need." 

Seldom  do  Indians  in  council  interrupt  a 
speaker,  but  as  the  white  leader  promised  to 
take  up  the  name  and  life  of  their  dead  chief  the 
whole  gathering  broke  into  cries  of  rejoicing 
and  praise.  When  a  son  was  lost  from  an  Indian 
family  the  sorrowing  parents  often  adopted  in 
his  place  a  captive  from  another  nation.  So  now 
it  did  not  seem  strange  that  in  place  of  their 
lamented  chief  they  should  take  to  their  hearts 
and  homes  this  white  chief,  and  call  him  by  the 
old  name  Ouabicolcata,  and  love  him  as  they 
loved  the  man  who  was  dead. 

La  Salle's  men  now  brought  three  immense 
kettles.  "In  these,"  said  the  white  chief,  "you 
will  make  a  great  feast  for  the  dead  come  to 

163 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

life."  Then  to  his  newly  found  relatives  he  pre- 
sented shirts  and  cloaks,  a  box  of  knives  and 
hatchets,  and  many  other  wonderful  things 
saying:  "See  how  I  will  give  to  my  people  the 
things  they  need." 

"And  now,  my  brothers,"  said  La  Salle,  "we 
come  to  a  matter  of  much  consequence"  — 
and  he  presented  the  Miamis  with  six  guns. 
"There  is  a  great  master  across  the  sea.  He 
is  famous  everywhere.  He  loves  peace.  He  is 
strong  to  help  us,  but  he  wants  us  to  listen  to 
his  words.  He  is  called  the  King  of  France,  the 
greatest  chief  of  all  those  who  rule  on  the  other 
shore.  He  is  anxious  that  peace  shall  come 
upon  all  people  and  that  no  one  shall  wage  war 
without  asking  permission  of  his  servant  Onon- 
tio,  the  governor  at  Quebec.  Therefore,  be  at 
peace  with  your  neighbors  and  most  of  all  with 
the  Illinois.  You  have  had  your  quarrels  with 
them.  But  have  you  not  been  enough  avenged 
by  their  losses  ?  They  want  peace  with  you,  yet 
they  are  still  strong  enough  to  do  you  harm. 
Content  yourselves  with  the  glory  of  having 
them  ask  for  peace.  And  their  interest  is  yours. 
If  they  are  destroyed,  will  not  the  Iroquois 
destroy  you  the  more  easily?    So  take  these 

164 


A  CHIEF  COME  TO   LIFE 

guns,  but  use  them  not  for  waging  war,  but  for 
the  hunt  and  for  self-defense." 

Then  at  last  La  Salle  chose  from  his  bundles 
two  wampum  necklaces  —  the  gifts  most  com- 
mon among  Indians.  Turning  to  the  thirty- 
New  England  Indians  who  were  with  him,  he 
said:  "These  are  other  Miamis  who  come  to 
take  with  you  the  places  of  the  warriors  whom 
the  Iroquois  have  killed.  Their  bodies  are  the 
bodies  of  Indians  from  New  England,  but  they 
have  the  spirit  and  the  heart  of  the  Miamis. 
Receive  them  as  your  brothers." 

The  council  broke  up  in  a  tumult  of  joy  and 
brotherly  feeling.  High  honor  had  been  paid  to 
the  dead  and  splendid  gifts  bestowed  upon  the 
living.  On  the  next  day  the  Miamis  came  before 
La  Salle  to  dance  and  present  gifts.  They  did 
homage  to  the  good  spirits  of  the  sky  and  the 
sun  and  to  the  God  of  the  French.  Then  one  of 
their  chiefs,  Ouabibichagan,  presented  to  their 
new  brother  ten  beaver  skins  saying:  — 

"Never,  my  brother  Ouabicolcata,  have  we 
seen  so  wonderful  an  event.  Never  before  have 
we  seen  a  dead  man  come  to  life.  He  must  be  a 
great  spirit  who  can  thus  bring  back  life.  He 
makes  the  sky  more  fair  and  the  sun  more 

165 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

bright.  He  has  given  you  with  life,  clothes  with 
which  to  cover  us  who  are  wont  to  be  naked. 

"We  are  ashamed  that  we  have  not  equal 
gifts  to  give  you.  But  you,  Ouabicolcata,  are 
a  brother.  You  will  excuse  us.  For  it  was  to 
redeem  your  bones  from  the  Iroquois  that  we 
made  ourselves  poor.  We  gave  them  three 
thousand  beaver  skins.  This  little  gift  of  ten 
skins  is  but  a  sign  —  is  only  like  the  paper  which 
you  Frenchmen  give  to  one  another  —  it  only 
means  that  we  promise  you  all  the  beavers  in 
the  river  when  next  spring  shall  come." 

Again  he  gave  him  ten  beavers  and  told  him 
of  the  joy  the  Miamis  would  feel  as  they  went 
upon  their  hunts  with  their  brother  alive  again, 
and  the  spirit  that  gave  him  back  his  breath 
guarding  over  their  happiness.  With  a  third 
gift  of  skins  he  spoke  of  the  French  king  in  these 
words :  — 

"  We  will  listen  to  him;  we  will  put  aside  our 
arms;  we  will  break  our  arrows,  and  hide  our 
war-clubs  at  the  bottom  of  the  earth.  The  Illi- 
nois are  our  brothers  since  they  acknowledge 
our  father,  and  the  French  king  is  our  father 
since  he  has  given  life  back  to  our  brothers." 

A  fourth  and  a  fifth  gift  of  beaver  skins  he 
166 


A  CHIEF  COME  TO   LIFE 

made  and  bound  the  Miamis  to  Ouabicolcata 
and  their  new  brothers  from  New  England. 
At  last  he  handed  the  white  chief  for  the  sixth 
time  ten  beavers  and  said :  — 

"Do  not  count  the  skins,  my  brother,  for  we 
have  none  left.  The  Iroquois  have  all  the  rest. 
But  accept  our  hearts  in  trust  for  what  we  will 
do  when  spring  has  come  again." 

After  the  gifts  the  dancing  began  again  and 
also  the  feasting  from  the  new  kettles.  And  all 
day  long  the  three  wives  of  Ouabibichagan, 
sisters  to  one  another,  and  the  wives  of  Miche- 
tonga,  also  sisters,  danced  in  the  sunshine  of 
spring  and  in  the  joy  of  a  people  reconciled  to 
their  neighbors  and  happy  in  the  pleasant 
childlike  pretension  of  a  lost  brother  come  back 
to  live  with  them  once  more. 

As  the  Miamis  danced  a  band  of  Illinois  were 
following  swift  trails  westward  to  the  banks  of 
the  Mississippi.  They  had  talked  with  the  great 
white  chief  who  had  left  Fort  Crevecceur  so 
long  ago  in  the  good  old  days  when  Chassagoac 
was  alive  and  when  their  villages  smiled  in  the 
sun  along  the  Illinois  River.  They  were  carry- 
ing back  to  the  Peorias  and  the  Kaskaskias  and 
the  Tamaroas  and  to  all  their  brethren  the  mes- 

167 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

sage  from  La  Salle,  that  he  was  still  determined 
to  make  his  trip  to  the  mouth  of  the  Great  River, 
and  that  he  had  come  to  reunite  the  Miami  and 
Illinois,  to  plant  his  men  as  a  guard  against  the 
Iroquois,  and  to  snatch  back  for  them  the  beau- 
tiful valley  of  the  Illinois. 


XX 

STRANGE   RITES 

Spring  was  coming,  and  the  giant  of  the 
Great  Valley,  lying  stretched  at  full  length,  was 
beginning  to  stir  uneasily.  Too  long  had  he 
slept  with  his  head  in  the  snow  far  up  in  the 
country  of  the  Sioux.  His  outspread  arms,  flung 
to  the  mountains  on  either  side,  began  to  move, 
and  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers,  entwined  in  the 
hills  of  the  Alleghanies  and  the  rough  piles  of 
the  Rockies,  a  new  life  came.  The  Mississippi 
River  was  waking  from  its  winter  sleep. 

In  the  land  of  the  Iroquois,  by  distant  Lake 
Ontario,  the  ice  in  little  brooks  was  melting, 
and  snow-water  was  running  down  from  their 
banks  to  flow  through  the  length  of  the  Ohio 
Valley  into  the  Great  River.  Over  by  the  foot 
of  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois,  where  the  head- 
waters of  the  Kankakee  crept  out  from  the 
country  of  the  timorous  Miamis,  cakes  of  ice 
were  starting  on  a  long  journey  down  the 
widening  river  into  the  Illinois,  there  to  run 
smoothly  through  a  deserted  valley,  past  the 

169 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

ruined  village  of  the  Kaskaskias,  the  empty 
Peoria  lodges,  and  the  forsaken  fort  to  find  the 
wide  river  in  the  land  of  the  luckless  Tamaroas. 

Even  in  the  cold  Sioux  country  the  tiny 
sources  of  the  Mississippi  were  stirring;  and  the 
waters  grew  less  chill  as  they  slipped  out  of 
the  sight  of  the  Sioux  hunters  and  took  their 
way  southward  past  the  far-driven  tribes  of  the 
Illinois  —  here  the  Kaskaskias,  lower  down  the 
Peorias  —  until  they  reached  the  haunts  of 
the  Tamaroas  and  were  joined  by  the  waters 
of  the  Illinois. 

Southward  ever  the  spring  water  flowed. 
Here  from  the  Western  plains  came  rushing 
like  a  buffalo  bull  the  tawny  Missouri,  bringing 
down  logs  and  trees  that  had  passed  many  and 
strange  peoples  on  their  way  from  the  far 
unknown  West.  Out  of  these  Western  countries 
came  also  the  Arkansas  to  cast  its  burden  into 
the  river  farther  down. 

Now  all  these  waters,  gathered  in  a  mighty 
stream,  flowed  on  past  the  strange  Southern 
tribes  —  past  the  Taensas,  watching  their  sa- 
cred fires  and  guarding  their  temples  in  eight 
villages  gathered  on  a  crescent-shaped  lake, 
and  past  the  Natchez  and  the  treacherous 

170 


STRANGE  RITES 

Coroas  and  Quinipissas  —  till  at  last,  under  the 
warm  Southern  sun,  the  river  poured  itself  out 
of  the  bottom  of  the  valley  into  the  salt  waters 
of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Thus  in  the  year  1682  the  Great  Valley 
awoke  from  its  quiet  winter.  Soon  in  the  North 
the  Indian  women  could  stir  the  eager  soil  and 
begin  their  planting.  The  Indian  braves  could 
toss  their  snowshoes  into  a  corner  of  the  lodge, 
throw  off  their  winter  garments  of  buffalo  hide, 
and  go  out  into  the  sunshine  as  free  and  happy 
and  unencumbered  as  God  had  made  them. 

All  the  valley  was  a  playground  for  the 
Indians.  Its  woods  and  its  streams,  its  prairies 
and  its  hills,  its  herds  of  buffalo,  its  deer  and 
bear  and  wild  fowl  were  theirs.  They  could 
build  their  lodges  and  hunt  game  where  they 
willed.  They  could  trade  with  the  tribes  of  the 
North  and  South  and  of  the  river  valleys  on 
either  side;  or  they  could  fight  with  them  if 
they  chose.  It  was  a  valley  full  of  the  best  gifts 
of  the  good  spirits  —  this  land  of  the  Indians. 
What  if  there  were  up  around  the  rivers  of  the 
North  and  East  occasional  white  men?  They 
were  few  and  they  brought  wonderful  gifts. 
Surely  there  was  room  for  all. 

171 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

Below  the  villages  of  the  Arkansas  tribes, 
which  Marquette  and  Joliet  had  reached  nine 
years  before,  the  Indians  had  seen  no  white 
man's  canoe.  It  is  true  their  old  men  told 
a  tale,  handed  down  through  long  years,  of  a 
Spaniard  who  came  into  the  Great  Valley  from 
the  East  with  an  army  that  ravaged  and  plun- 
dered and  killed.  The  leader  disappeared,  and 
his  men  drifted  down  the  river  to  its  mouth  and 
left  forever  the  basin  of  the  Mississippi.  But 
many  generations  had  passed  since  the  time  of 
the  mysteriously  vanishing  De  Soto  and  his 
cruel  followers.  Between  the  French  far  to  the 
northeast  and  the  Spaniards  as  far  to  the  south- 
west there  lay  the  length  of  the  river  with  room 
in  its  broad  and  smiling  valley  for  the  homes 
and  hunting-grounds  of  a  hundred  tribes. 

It  was  the  month  of  March,  in  the  villages  of 
the  Arkansas  tribes,  and  the  air  was  soft  and 
mild,  and  the  peach  trees  were  in  blossom.  The 
banks  of  the  river  were  low  and  drowned  now 
with  the  spring  floods ;  and  thick  barriers  of  cane 
rose  up  from  the  swampy  shores.  Since  Mar- 
quette and  Joliet  visited  the  Arkansas,  no 
white  men  had  entered  their  villages ;  but  they 
had  learned  of  the  events  in  the  North.  When 

172 


STRANGE  RITES 

they  found  that  a  powerful  white  chief  was 
building  a  fort  on  the  Illinois  River  and  giving 
wonderful  presents  to  the  neighboring  tribes, 
they  sent  a  delegation  to  invite  him  to  come 
to  their  country  and  live. 

La  Salle  had  said  that  he  was  coming  down 
the  river  soon,  and  they  had  seen  the  ribs  of 
the  great  ship  he  was  building.  The  Arkansas, 
moreover,  had  brought  home  gifts  from  him  to 
their  neighbors  and  friends.  But  he  had  not 
come  in  these  two  long  years,  and  the  Indians 
had  been  busy  with  their  own  concerns- — with 
their  hunting  and  their  care  of  the  fields,  and 
with  a  constantjdgilance  to  prevent  an^Uaehr 
by  surprise  from  tKett  eneiniesthe  Chickasaws. 

On  this  particular  March  day  a  dense  fog  lay 
upon  the  river.  In  the  spring  fogs  were  fre- 
quent and  were  not  without  danger;  for  under 
cover  of  these  concealing  mists  the  Chicka- 
saws might  more  easily  approach  unawares. 
But  this  morning  there  were  those  who  watched 
and  they  brought  news  into  the  upper  village 
that  a  band  of  men  was  coming  down  the  river 
in  canoes.  The  village  flew  to  arms.  The 
women  gathered  together  and  hurried  away  to 
the  inland,  their  papooses  in  cradles  swinging 

173 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

from  their  shoulders.  The  men,  weapons  in 
hand,  began  to  howl  their  war  cries  and  beat 
their  skin  drums.  Within  an  hour  the  fog  dis- 
appeared, and  they  saw  a  party  of  men  en- 
camped on  the  bank  opposite  the  village.  On 
a  point  of  land  jutting  out  into  the  river  stood 
a  man  who  called  across  to  them. 

The  Arkansas  thrust  one  of  their  dugouts 
into  the  stream  and  hastened  to  meet  the 
visitors.  When  they  were  within  earshot,  the 
man  on  shore  called  out  in  the  Illinois  tongue 
to  ask  who  they  were.  There  happened  to  be 
an  Illinois  Indian  in  the  dugout  and  he  replied 
that  they  were  Arkansas.  One  of  the  warriors 
from  the  village  drew  back  the  string  of  his  bow 
and  let  fly  an  arrow.  Then  they  sat  silent  and 
waited.  It  was  their  way  of  inquiring  whether 
peace  or  war  was  sought  by  the  strangers.  The 
man  on  shore  did  not  attempt  to  return  the  fire. 
So  with  lightened  hearts  they  drew  near  to 
learn  more  of  the  peaceful  newcomers. 

It  was  a  white  man  who  met  them.  His  hair 
was  black  and  long,  and  his  right  hand  was 
encased  in  a  glove.  It  was  the  Man  with  the 
Iron  Hand  who  greeted  them  on  behalf  of  his 
leader  La  Salle.  Without  delay  the  Indians  sent 

174 


STRANGE  RITES 

an  embassy  to  smoke  the  calumet  with  La  Salle, 
and  soon  the  Arkansas  were  welcoming  in  their 
village  on  the  west  bank  of  the  river  the  entire 
band  of  strangers.  La  Salle  had  come  at  last  as 
he  had  promised,  but  he  had  not  come  in  a 
mighty  ship,  but  in  a  fleet  of  bark  canoes  with 
nearly  half  a  hundred  men. 

There  were  old  friends  in  his  company 
besides  Tonty.  The  stout-hearted  young  Bois- 
rondet  and  the  gray-gowned  Father  Membre 
were  there,  and  perhaps  a  score  of  other 
Frenchmen.  There  were  also  nearly  as  many 
of  the  New  England  Indians  who  had  joined 
La  Salle  at  Fort  Miami;  and  with  them  was  a 
handful  of  Indian  women,  who  had  refused  to 
be  left  behind,  and  three  little  Indian  children. 

The  tribes  living  in  this  upper  Arkansas 
village  were  known  as  Kappas  or  Quapaws; 
and  they  proved  themselves  royal  entertainers. 
They  gave  the  strangers  quarters  by  them- 
selves, built  lodges  for  them,  and  brought  them 
provisions  in  great  abundance.  The  day  fol- 
lowing his  arrival  they  danced  before  La  Salle 
the  calumet  dance.  First  the  chiefs  of  the  tribe 
took  their  places  in  the  midst  of  an  open  space, 
while  warriors   brought  them  two   calumets 

175 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

decorated  with  plumage  of  many  colors.  The 
bowls  of  the  calumets  were  of  red  pipestone  and 
full  of  tobacco.  Warriors  who  took  part  in  the 
dance  held  gourds  hollowed  out  and  filled  with 
pebbles;  and  two  of  them  had  drums  made 
of  earthen  pots  covered  with  dried  pieces  of 
skin. 

One  group  of  Indians  began  to  sing,  at  the 
same  time  dancing  and  shaking  their  gourd 
rattles  —  all  in  perfect  rhythm,  though  not 
necessarily  in  the  same  time.  An  Indian  might 
sing  with  one  time,  dance  with  a  different  time, 
and  shake  his  gourd  with  a  rhythm  more  slow 
or  rapid  than  either.  Yet  the  rhythm  of  each 
series  of  motions  or  sounds  would  be  perfect  in 
itself. 

When  the  first  group  stopped,  another  group 
took  up  the  song  and  the  dance.  Two  men  beat 
the  skin  drums,  while  the  chiefs  gravely  drew 
smoke  from  the  long-stemmed  calumets  and 
passed  them  on  to  La  Salle  and  his  men.  Then 
those  of  the  warriors  who  had  gained  renown 
seized,  one  after  another,  a  great  war  club,  and 
with  it  struck  blows  upon  a  stout  post  planted 
in  the  ground.  With  his  blows  each  brave 
recounted  his  feats  of  bravery  and  told  of  the 

176 


STRANGE  RITES 

scalps  he  had  taken,  the  enemies  he  had  killed, 
and  the  times  when  he  had  been  first  of  his  band 
to  strike  the  enemy. 

When  they  had  finished  this  ceremony,  they 
presented  gifts  of  buffalo  hides  to  La  Salle. 
Then  La  Salle's  men  also  one  by  one  struck  the 
post  and  told  of  their  own  brave  deeds  and  gave 
presents  to  the  Indians.  And  all  the  while  the 
chiefs,  Indian  and  French,  smoked  the  pipes 
that  bound  them  to  peace. 

Doubtless  this  ceremony  of  the  calumet  — 
with  the  dancing  and  singing,  the  recounting  of 
brave  deeds,  and  the  giving  of  gifts  —  seemed 
a  very  curious  performance  to  the  French. 
But  equally  curious  to  the  Indians  must  have 
seemed  the  ceremonies  of  the  white  men  on  that 
selfsame  day. 

La  Salle  asked  permission  of  the  chiefs  to 
raise,  in  the  village,  an  emblem  of  the  God  of 
the  French  and  of  the  great  King  of  France. 
To  this  the  Indians  readily  agreed.  Whereupon 
Tonty  was  dispatched  with  some  of  the  men 
to  make  preparations.  They  cut  and  smoothed 
a  huge  wooden  pillar,  and  upon  it  they  drew  a 
cross,  and  above  the  cross  they  carved  the 
arms  of  France  with  these  words :  — 

177 


s* 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

r  Louis  the  Great,  King  of  France  and  Navarre, 

REIGNS  THIS  THIRTEENTH    DAY  OF  MARCH,  1 682." 

A  procession  was  formed,  and  the  pillar  was 
carried  in  state  to  the  open  space  in  the  midst 
of  the  Indian  town.  Here  the  procession  divided 
into  two  columns,  with  La  Salle  at  the  head 
of  one  and  Tonty  leading  the  other.  Every 
Frenchman  was  in  arms,  while  the  New  Eng- 
land Indians  with  their  wives  and  children 
steadfastly  followed  their  white  leaders. 

Father Memb re  began  to  sing  a  curious  song; 
and  then  the  whole  procession  took  up  the 
chant  and  marched  three  times  around  the 
open  square.  Three  times  they  sent  up  a  great 
cry,  "Vive  le  Roi,"  and  discharged  their  guns 
in  the  air.  Then  they  planted  the  pillar  firmly 
in  the  ground,  cried  again,  "Vive  le  Roi,"  and 
shot  off  another  volley  with  their  guns. 

When  it  was  quiet  once  more  La  Salle  began 
a  solemn  speech  in  French.  The  awe-stricken 
Indians  did  not  understand  his  words;  but  later 
the  speech  was  interpreted  for  them  and  they 
knew  that,  by  the  sign  of  the  cross  and  the 
king's  arms,  the  white  chief  was  claiming  the 
whole  broad  valley  for  his  king  beyond  the  seas. 
What  mattered  it  to  the  Indians  ?  If  the  white 

i78 


STRANGE  RITES 

men  would  bring  them  gifts,  and  if  this  mysteri- 
ous pillar  would  protect  them  from  harm  and 
safeguard  them  from  their  enemies,  the  distant 
king  was  welcome  to  his  claim. 

With  wondering  faces  the  Indians  gathered 
about  the  pillar  when  the  strange  ceremony- 
was  over.  They  placed  their  hands  upon  the 
hewed  wood  and  then  rubbed  their  naked 
bodies  —  as  if  to  transfer  to  themselves  some 
of  the  medicine  in  the  white  men's  shaft. 

Two  days  later  the  strangers  embarked  in 
their  canoes  and  left  the  village  of  the  Kappas ; 
and  with  them  went  two  Arkansas  guides  to 
point  out  the  way  to  their  allies,  the  Taensas, 
who  lived  on  a  lake  near  the  river  many  leagues 
below. 


XXI 

THE   LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

For  several  days  the  canoes  of  La  Salle's 
party  passed  wet  banks  and  thick  canebrakes. 
No  longer  were  to  be  seen  the  otter  and  the  flat- 
tailed  beaver,  for  they  had  been  driven  out  or 
devoured  by  the  alligators  that  now  infested 
the  river.  As  the  canoes  slid  past  these  huge 
monsters,  sometimes  nearly  twenty  feet  in 
length,  the  Frenchmen  sat  snugly  in  the  center 
of  their  barks  for  fear  of  following  the  way  of 
the  beaver. 

At  length  the  Arkansas  guides  indicated  a 
small  cove  into  which  a  little  brook  flowed.  It 
was  the  beginning  of  the  inland  trail  to  the 
Taensas;  and  so  the  whole  party  landed  and 
pitched  camp  on  the  shore  of  the  bay.  La 
Salle  asked  Tonty  to  take  with  him  the  two 
guides,  a  Frenchman,  and  one  of  the  New 
England  Indians  and  proceed  up  the  brook 
toward  the  villages. 

The  men  paddled  their  canoe  as  far  as  the 
water  would  permit,  then  packed  it  upon  their 

1 80 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

shoulders,  and  under  the  guidance  of  the 
Arkansas  Indians  picked  their  way  across  the 
swampy  country.  Finally  they  reached  a  lake 
lying  in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  and  crossing  it 
in  their  canoe  they  came  upon  an  Indian  town. 
The  men  in  the  canoe  drew  in  their  paddles 
and  stepped  out  on  the  shore  of  the  lake. 
Tonty  looked  in  amazement  at  the  Indian 
village  before  him,  for  in  all  of  his  wanderings 
over  the  continent  he  had  never  seen  houses 
like  these.  Instead  of  lodges  made  of  bark  or 
mats  or  skins  fastened  to  a  framework  of  poles, 
here  were  great  houses  built  with  thick  walls  of 
sun-dried  mud  and  dome-shaped  roofs  of  canes. 

To  the  Arkansas  guides,  however,  the  village 
presented  no  strange  scene.  They  were  in 
familiar  country;  and  when  they  reached  the 
shore  they  began  a  weird  Indian  song.  Back  in 
the  village  the  Taensas  who  heard  them  knew 
they  were  friends,  and  came  out  to  welcome 
them.  They  led  the  visitors  first  to  the  lodge 
of  the  chief,  which  was  a  building  forty  feet 
in  length  with  walls  two  feet  thick  and  ten  or 
twelve  feet  high,  surmounted  by  a  domed  roof 
that  reached  to  a  height  of  about  fifteen  feet. 

They  passed  through  the  doorway  and  stood 
181 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

in  the  semi-darkness  of  a  large  room.  In  the 
center  of  the  room  a  torch,  made  of  dried  canes, 
was  burning.  Its  light  gleamed  upon  shields  of 
burnished  copper  that  hung  on  every  wall  and 
lit  up  dimly  hides  painted  with  all  manner  of 
pictures.  In  the  flickering  light  of  the  torch 
white-robed  figures  stood  out  from  the  dusk  of 
the  room.  They  were  old  men  of  the  tribe,  sixty 
of  them,  and  they  stood  facing  an  alcove  where, 
on  a  couch,  with  his  three  wives  beside  him,  sat 
the  chief.  He  was  dressed  like  the  old  men,  in  a 
white  robe  made  from  the  bark  of  the  mulberry 
tree;  and  pearls  as  big  as  peas  hung  from  his 
ears. 

There  were  girls  and  women  in  the  room,  and 
here  and  there  a  child  with  its  mother;  but  over 
all  the  group  was  a  respectful  quiet,  a  dignified 
reverence  for  the  chief  who  sat  upon  the  couch 
gazing  curiously  at  Tonty  and  his  companions. 
The  old  men,  standing  with  their  hands  upon 
their  heads,  burst  out  in  unison  with  a  cry, 
"Ho-ho-ho-ho,"  and  then  seated  themselves 
upon  mats  laid  on  the  floor.  The  visitors  also 
were  given  mats  to  sit  upon. 

One  of  the  Arkansas  guides  rose  and  began  to 
address  the  chief.  He  told  him  that  the  white 

182 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

men  had  come  to  make  an  alliance  with  him, 
but  just  now  they  were  sorely  in  need  of  food. 
Then  he  swung  from  his  own  body  a  buffalo 
skin  and  presented  it  to  the  chief.  Tonty,  too, 
delighted  him  with  the  gift  of  a  knife  —  for  the 
knives  and  hatchets  of  the  Taensas  were  rude 
instruments  made  of  flint. 

The  chief  ordered  food  to  be  sent  to  the  men 
who  were  waiting  over  on  the  Mississippi  and 
a  banquet  to  be  prepared  for  their  guests.  It 
was  a  dignified  feast,  at  which  slaves  waited 
upon  the  chief.  They  brought  him  dishes  and 
cups,  made  of  pottery  with  the  fine  art  in  which 
his  people  excelled.  No  one  else  used  his  dishes 
or  drank  out  of  his  cup. 

A  little  tottering  child  started  to  cross  the 
floor  between  the  chief  and  the  flaming  torch. 
With  a  quick  reproof  his  mother  seized  him  and 
made  him  walk  around  the  torch.  Such  was  the 
respect  which  they  paid  to  the  living  chief;  and 
when  a  chief  died  it  was  their  custom  to  sacri- 
fice perhaps  a  score  of  men  and  women,  that 
they  might  accompany  him  to  the  country 
beyond  the  grave  and  serve  him  there. 

When  the  feast  was  over  and  the  visitors 
came  out  from  the  lodge  of  the  chief,  they  saw 

183 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

across  the  way  a  building  somewhat  similar  in 
shape  and  size.  It  was  the  sacred  temple  of  the 
tribe.  Into  the  mud  walls  that  inclosed  it  were 
stuck  spikes  on  which  were  hung  the  skulls  of 
enemies.  On  the  roof,  facing  the  rising  sun 
which  the  Taensas  worshiped,  were  the  carved 
figures  of  three  eagles.  Inside  the  temple  were 
preserved  the  bones  of  departed  chiefs.  An 
altar  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  here 
the  sacred  fire  was  kept  burning.  Two  old 
medicine  men  sat  beside  it,  unwinking  and 
grave,  guarding  it  by  day  and  by  night. 

The  chief  was  highly  pleased  with  his  vis- 
itors. If  the  man  who  had  sent  Tonty  to  his 
village  had  been  an  Indian,  it  would  have  been 
beneath  the  chief's  dignity  to  call  upon  him. 
But  he  sent  word  to  La  Salle  by  Tonty  that  he 
would  pay  him  a  visit,  and  on  the  next  day  he 
set  out.  He  sent  before  him  a  master  of  cere- 
monies with  six  men  to  prepare  the  way.  They 
took  with  them  a  beautifully  woven  mat  for 
him  to  rest  upon,  and  with  their  hands  they 
swept  the  ground  over  which  he  would  pass. 
As  he  came  down  the  little  creek  in  his  dugout 
canoe  his  followers  beat  upon  drums  and  his 
wives  and  the  other  women  in  the  party  sang 

184 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

songs  of  praise.  He  landed  and  approached  La 
Salle's  camp,  dressed  in  his  white  robe  and  pre- 
ceded by  two  men  carrying  white  plume  fans 
and  a  third  bearing  two  shields  of  shining 
brass.  The  two  chiefs  met  and  exchanged  pres- 
ents ;  and  after  a  quiet  call  the  dignified  Taensas 
chief  returned  to  his  village  on  the  lake. 

When  La  Salle's  men  pushed  their  canoes  out 
from  the  shore  of  the  cove,  well  laden  with  pro- 
visions from  the  Taensas,  they  left  behind  their 
Arkansas  guides  and  four  of  the  New  England 
Indians  who  were  fearful  of  the  dangers  below. 
But  there  were  now  two  new  members  of  the 
party,  for  the  Taensas  had  given  to  Tonty  and 
his  Mohegan  companion  two  slave  boys,  cap- 
tured from  the  Coroas  farther  south. 

They  had  not  gone  far  when  they  observed 
upon  the  river  a  single  canoe,  to  which  a  num- 
ber of  the  party  gave  chase.  The  canoe  of 
Tonty,  outstripping  the  others,  had  nearly 
reached  the  strange  bark  when  they  saw  a  band 
of  perhaps  a  hundred  Indians,  armed  with 
bows  and  arrows,  on  the  shore  ready  to  defend 
their  comrade  in  the  canoe.  Tonty,  after  con- 
sulting with  La  Salle,  offered  to  take  a  pipe  of 
peace  to  the  band  of  savages.  He  crossed  to  the 

I8S 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

shore,  presented  the  calumet  for  the  Indians  to 
smoke,  and  made  a  gift  of  a  knife  to  one  of  the 
old  men  who  seemed  to  be  a  chief.  The  Indians 
were  of  the  nation  of  Natchez,  and  they  showed 
their  desire  for  peace  by  joining  hands.  This 
presented  some  difficulty  to  Tonty,  but  he 
bade  his  men  join  hands  in  his  place,  and  the 
treaty  of  peace  was  concluded.  Soon  the  rest 
of  the  party  came  ashore,  and  La  Salle,  taking 
with  him  a  few  of  his  men,  made  a  visit  to  the 
village  which  lay  three  leagues  from  the  river. 
The  Natchez  were  a  powerful  people  related  to 
the  Taensas,  and,  like  them,  they  worshiped  the 
sun  and  maintained  a  sacred  temple.  La  Salle 
spent  the  night  in  their  village;  and  while  he 
slept  a  swift  runner  hurried  through  the  dark- 
ness to  the  village  of  the  Coroas  to  ask  the  chief 
to  come  and  visit  their  guest.  The  chief  of  the 
Coroas  set  out  at  once  and  traveled  all  night  to 
reach  the  Natchez  village  and  pay  his  respects 
to  La  Salle.  For  several  days  the  white  leader 
visited  with  the  Natchez,  and  when  he  rejoined 
Tonty  on  the  shore  of  the  river  the  Coroa  chief 
came  with  him.  He  accompanied  the  white  men 
down  the  river  to  his  own  village,  six  leagues 
below,  where  his  tribe  gave  the  strangers  a 

1 86 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

friendly  reception.  Here  Tonty's  little  Coroa 
slave  seized  the  opportunity  to  escape  to  his 
people.  But  the  boy  who  had  been  given  to  the 
Mohegan  was  not  so  fortunate  and  remained 
with  the  party  of  explorers. 

Thus  far  peace  had  attended  the  journey  of 
La  Salle;  but  it  was  not  to  be  so  always.  With- 
out stopping  they  passed  the  village  of  the 
Humas  and  the  high  bank  where  a  red  pole,  or 
baton  rouge,  marked  the  boundary  between 
the  territory  of  the  Humas  and  the  tribes  to  the 
south.  As  they  approached  the  village  of  the 
Quinipissas,  they  heard  the  sound  of  drums  and 
war  cries,  and  a  party  sent  out  by  La  Salle  to 
reconnoiter  was  received  with  a  volley  of  arrows. 
La  Salle  decided  not  to  stop ;  and  picking  up  his 
men,  passed  on  down  the  river. 

At  length,  early  in  April  of  the  year  1682,  the 
party  reached  the  long-dreamed-of  mouth  of 
the  river;  and  La  Salle,  on  the  9th  of  the  month, 
full  of  joy,  took  possession,  in  the  name  of  the 
King  of  France,  of  all  the  lands  watered  by  the 
rivers  that  flowed  into  the  basin  of  the  Missis- 
sippi. No  white  man  before  them  had  traveled 
from  Canada  to  the  Gulf.  As  they  saw  the  cross 
rise  in  the  swampy  land  near  the  sea  and  the 

187 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

arms  of  their  king  held  up  to  the  southern  sky, 
the  hearts  of  La  Salle  and  Tonty,  of  Father 
Membre  and  every  Frenchman  there  beat  high 
with  pride. 

And  the  dusky  New  England  Indians  — 
devoted  to  their  leader  and  far-wandered  in  a 
valley  which  meant  nothing  to  them — rejoiced 
also,  as  every  Indian  rejoices  and  feels  pride  in 
the  end  of  a  long  journey,  be  it  for  vengeance, 
for  game,  or  for  adventure.  As  for  the  young 
Coroa  lad,  who  stood  in  their  midst,  the  only 
representative  of  the  people  of  the  Mississippi, 
he  was  too  young  and  his  people  and  his  race 
were  too  young  to  understand  what  had  hap- 
pened in  their  valley. 

The  voyagers  now  turned  the  prows  of  their 
canoes  to  the  north  and  began  the  slow  ascent 
of  the  river.  They  were  so  nearly  out  of  pro- 
visions that  La  Salle  determined  to  stop  at 
the  Quinipissa  village  for  food,  in  spite  of  their 
former  hostility.  Coming  upon  four  women  of 
the  tribe,  he  sent  one  of  them  home  to  her  people 
with  presents  and  a  message  of  peace.  Keeping 
the  other  three  as  hostages,  he  waited  across 
the  stream  from  the  village.  Soon  there  came 
Quinipissas  who  invited  him  to  cross  over  to 

188 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

their  side.  La  Salle  did  so  and  pitched  camp  a 
short  distance  from  the  village.  The  Indians 
brought  him  food  and  he  released  the  three 
women,  but  still  kept  a  careful  guard. 

That  night  watches  were  posted  with  un- 
usual care.  Crevel,  one  of  the  Frenchmen,  was 
the  last  to  keep  guard.  It  was  now  within  a 
half-hour  of  dawn.  Already  faint  lights  were 
beginning  to  shine,  when  he  heard  a  noise  in  the 
canes.  He  spoke  to  a  comrade  who  said  it  was 
only  some  dogs.  But  Tonty  had  heard  their 
words  and  called  to  them  to  be  on  guard,  and  La 
Salle,  in  whose  eyes  was  little  sleep,  leaped  up 
with  the  cry,  "To  arms."  In  a  moment  the 
camp  was  ready  for  an  attack. 

At  the  same  instant  came  the  war  cries  of  the 
Quinipissas  on  all  sides  of  them.  Guns  flashed 
and  arrows  flew  in  the  spreading  light.  When 
this  sun  came  up  and  the  Quinipissas  looked 
upon  their  slain  warriors  they  turned  and  fled, 
with  the  whites  after  them  until  recalled  by 
La  Salle.  The  New  England  Indians  came  ex- 
citedly back  to  camp  waving  scalps  which  they 
had  taken  from  the  enemy. 

Later  in  the  morning  La  Salle  with  half  of  his 
men  went  to  the  edge  of  the  village  and  broke 

189 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

up  the  Indians'  pirogues  under  their  very  eyes. 
Then  with  no  one  hurt,  the  party  of  explorers 
put  off  upstream  in  their  canoes.  Coming  again 
to  the  country  of  the  Coroas  they  were  wel- 
comed to  the  village,  but  there  was  a  strange 
new  feeling  in  the  air.  The  French  saw  Quini- 
pissas  among  them,  and  learned  that  they  were 
allies.  The  young  Coroa  captive  soon  had  told 
the  story  of  the  battle  to  his  people.  When  the 
voyagers  sat  down  to  eat  they  found  them- 
selves surrounded  by  more  than  a  thousand 
warriors.  They  ate  with  their  arms  within 
quick  reach,  for  no  one  knew  when  massacre 
might  be  attempted.  Taking  counsel,  however, 
the  Indians  finally  allowed  their  visitors  to 
proceed  up  the  Mississippi  in  peace. 

When  they  reached  the  village  of  the 
Taensas,  the  chief  in  his  white  cloak  was  as  dig- 
nified and  kind  as  ever,  and  rejoiced  greatly  at 
the  scalps  which  the  Mohegans  showed  him. 
Again  they  passed  the  villages  of  the  Arkansas. 
And  now  La  Salle  fell  sick  —  so  seriously  that,  in 
alarm  lest  he  should  not  reach  Canada,  he  sent 
Tonty  ahead  to  carry  the  good  news  of  the  trip 
to  the  French  settlements.  Tonty  with  four 
men  hurried  northward.   He  had  passed  the 

190 


THE  LOWER  MISSISSIPPI 

Ohio  and  was  drawing  near  the  Illinois  Valley 
when  one  day  thirty  Illinois  warriors  burst  out 
of  the  woods  with  drawn  bows,  taking  the  party 
for  Iroquois.  But  just  in  time  one  warrior 
recognized  Tonty  and  cried  out,  "  It  is  my  com- 
rade! They  are  Frenchmen !"  After  a  short 
stop  at  the  Tamaroa  village,  Tonty  pushed  on 
to  the  white  settlements. 

By  the  time  La  Salle,  slowly  recovering  from 
his  illness,  joined  Tonty  at  Mackinac,  word 
had  come  to  the  white  men  about  the  Lakes 
that  the  cross  and  the  arms  of  France  had  been 
raised  at  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  And  the 
Illinois  tribes  in  the  upper  valley,  still  afraid  to 
return  to  their  deserted  homes,  took  heart  when 
they  heard  of  the  safe  return  of  La  Salle  and  the 
Man  with  the  Iron  Hand  from  their  long  trip  to 
the  sea.  For  they  had  not  forgotten  La  Salle's 
promise  to  build  a  fort  to  protect  them  from  the 
Iroquois,  and  make  it  safe  for  them  to  return  to 
the  valley  they  had  lost. 


XXII 

THE   GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

On  the  south  bank  of  the  river  Illinois,  a  mile 
or  more  above  the  plain  where  lay  the  deserted 
village  of  the  Kaskaskias,  a  great  rock  rose 
sheer  from  the  water  to  a  height  of  over  a  hun- 
dred feet.  Three  sides  of  the  rock  were  like  the 
walls  of  a  mediaeval  castle.  At  the  fourth  side 
by  a  rugged  pathway  one  might  climb  labori- 
ously from  behind  to  the  level  top  where  oaks 
and  cedars  grew. 

In  the  month  of  January,  1683,  this  rock  was 
the  scene  of  busy  doings.  On  the  scant  acre  of 
ground  upon  its  summit,  Frenchmen  had  felled 
trees  and  were  building  cabins  and  storehouses 
and  palisaded  walls  and  erecting  a  fortification 
about  the  whole  area.  Up  the  steep  pathway 
other  Frenchmen  and  stalwart  Indians  were 
dragging  timbers  to  aid  in  the  construction  of 
fort  and  dwellings.  Moving  here  and  there 
among  the  men  was  the  dominant  figure  of  La 
Salle;  and  yonder  were  the  iron-handed  Tonty 
and  his  friend  Boisrondet.  Many  of  the  French- 

192 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

men  had  been  with  La  Salle  on  his  trip  to  the 
Gulf  the  year  before;  and  the  busy  Indians  were 
his  faithful  band  of  Mohegans  and  Abenakis. 

La  Salle  had  reached  Mackinac  after  his 
arduous  trip  to  the  sea,  with  little  strength  left, 
but  with  many  plans  for  the  future.  He  had 
explored  the  river  to  the  mouth.  It  now  re- 
mained for  him  to  make  use  of  the  Great 
Valley.  His  enemies,  the  rich  merchants  of 
Quebec  and  Montreal,  had  become  so  bitter 
in  their  opposition  to  him  that  he  knew  it  would 
be  difficult  to  carry  out  his  plans  from  Canada 
as  a  base.  And  so  he  determined  to  cut  loose 
as  soon  as  possible  from  the  valley  of  the  St. 
Lawrence  and  bring  his  supplies  and  men  by  sea 
from  France  to  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi, 
thence  up  the  river  to  the  trading-posts  which 
he  would  found  among  the  tribes  along  its 
banks. 

Such  was  the  vision  that  rose  before  La  Salle 
day  and  night  —  a  vision  of  the  long  river  val- 
ley held  together  by  a  chain  of  forts  and  depots 
for  the  fur  trade,  of  friendly  Indians  coming 
with  their  canoes  laden  with  furs  to  exchange 
with  the  French  for  merchandise,  of  French 
settlements  growing  up  in  the  wilderness,  of  a 

193 


i 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

great  post  at  the  mouth  of  the  river,  and  of  swift- 
sailing  ships  plying  between  the  Gulf  and  far- 
away France. 

But  to  bring  this  vision  to  reality  La  Salle 
must  first  repopulate  the  Illinois  Valley  and 
unite  the  Indian  tribes  of  that  region  to  repel 
the  bands  of  Iroquois  who  threatened  again  to 
invade  the  valley  of  the  Great  River.  So  he 
sent  Tonty  out  from  Mackinac,  in  the  fall  of 
1682,  to  begin  a  fort  around  which  they  might 
^gather  a  colony  of  the  far-scattered  tribes.  Not 
long  afterward,  La  Salle,  hearing  fresh  rumors 
of  an  Iroquois  invasion,  sent  Father  Membre  on 
to  Canada  and  France  to  report  the  exploration 
of  the  Mississippi,  and  then  joined  Tonty  on  the 
Illinois  River. 

Many  times  in  their  journeyings  up  and  down 
the  Illinois,  La  Salle  and  Tonty  had  noted  the 
high  rock  rising  from  the  riverside  near  the 
Kaskaskia  village.  What  a  rallying-point  this 
would  make  for  the  scattered  people!  La  Salle 
was  well  content  to  build  here  his  wilderness 
fort;  and  without  waiting  for  winter  to  loosen 
its  icy  grip  upon  the  land  he  put  his  men,  red- 
skinned  and  white,  at  work. 

They  were  many  weeks  building  the  citadel 
194 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE   TRIBES 

upon  the  rock;  and  when,  toward  spring,  it  was 
finished,  La  Salle  and  Tonty  looked  out  upon 
the  country  roundabout  with  a  feeling  of  great 
security.  In  the  river  below  them  was  a  small 
island,  and  here  they  prepared  to  plant  their 
crops.  It  was  within  gun-shot  of  the  fort,  from 
which  a  raking  fire  could  prevent  any  enemy 
from  landing  and  attacking  the  men  while  at 
work  in  the  fields.  Four  heavy  pieces  of  timber 
were  placed  so  as  to  project  over  the  edge  of  the 
rock,  and  from  these,  in  case  of  need,  water 
could  be  drawn  straight  up  from  the  clear  cur- 
rent of  the  Illinois  River. 

The  fortress  completed,  there  remained  the 
gathering  of  the  tribes.  On  a  day  in  March, 
1683,  Tonty  climbed  down  the  rugged  pathway 
and  set  out  across  the  prairies  to  visit  the  Indian 
tribes.  Nearly  a  hundred  leagues  he  trailed 
from  village  to  village.  In  the  lodges  of  the 
Shawnees  he  told  of  the  return  of  La  Salle  to 
the  Illinois  Valley  and  reminded  them  of  their 
promise  to  come  and  join  him. 

He  visited  the  Miamis  and  talked  of  the 
Iroquois  who  had  killed  so  many  of  their 
braves.  Even  now  rumors  of  another  invasion 
were  in  the  air.  But  if  the  Miamis  would  come 

195 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

out  to  the  colony  of  the  French  they  need  have 
no  fear,  for  Ouabicolcata  had  come  again  into 
the  valley  of  the  Illinois  and  on  the  bank  of 
the  river  had  built  a  strong  fort  to  guard  his 
brothers  the  Miamis. 

It  was  many  leagues  toward  the  setting  sun 
that  Tonty  traveled  before  he  found  the  tribes 
of  the  Illinois.  But  one  day  he  walked  into  the 
camp  of  his  old-time  companions  and  seated 
himself  upon  their  mats.  With  great  joy  they 
received  him  and  gave  into  his  left  hand  the 
calumet  of  peace  and  feasted  him  as  they  had 
done  three  years  before  in  their  ancient  home. 

They  were  wondering,  perhaps,  if  the  ice 
were  now  breaking  up  in  the  river  beside  the 
forsaken  village  and  if  the  snow  were  melting 
down  to  nourish  the  white-oak  trees  on  the  op- 
posite shore.  They  saw  the  whole  river  again 
as  they  listened  to  the  words  of  the  Man  with 
the  Iron  Hand.  Well  did  they  know  every 
bend  in  its  course.  And  what  Indian  could  for- 
get that  great  pile  of  rock  on  the  south  side  of 
the  river  a  half-league  above  their  old  town  ? 
Every  crevice  and  seam  in  its  weather-worn 
sides  came  back  to  them.  They  saw  in  their 
minds  the  ravine  on  the  eastern  side  where  a 

196 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

little  brook  ran  down  to  the  river.  They  saw 
again  the  rugged  path  that  led  to  the  summit; 
and  they  tried  to  picture  Frenchmen  climbing 
to  the  heights  where  the  fort  of  La  Salle  now 
stood.  It  was  a  fort  to  guard  them  from  the 
Iroquois,  said  Tonty,  if  only  they  would  come 
back  and  settle  in  their  old  haunts.  Nor  was  it 
difficult  to  persuade  them.  La  Salle  was  their 
father,  they  said.  Only  a  year  ago  he  had  vis- 
ited them,  told  them  of  his  plans,  and  urged 
them  to  forgive  the  Miamis  and  join  with  them 
against  the  common  foe. 

Their  fear  of  the  Iroquois  called  them;  their 
love  for  their  father  La  Salle  and  their  brother 
Tonty  and  for  the  gifts  these  men  brought 
called  them;  and  perhaps,  not  least  of  all,  the 
old  village  where  they  had  wooed  and  married 
their  Indian  women,  where  they  had  brought 
home  scalps  and  captives,  where  they  had  en- 
tertained their  friends  and  buried  their  dead 
—  their  home  of  other  days  —  called  them. 
Yes,  they  would  come  back  to  the  river  of  th< 
Illinois  and  raise  new  lodge-poles  on  the  site 
of  their  old  town  in  the  colony  of  their  father 
La  Salle. 

So  Tonty  returned  from  his  circuit  of  the 
197 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

tribes  and  climbed  the  rock  to  Fort  St.  Louis  to 
report  to  La  Salle  the  coming  of  the  Indians. 
Soon  the  tribes  began  to  gather.  The  Shawnees 
came  with  some  smaller  tribes  from  the  south 
and  settled  directly  behind  the  rock.  Nor  was 
it  many  weeks  before  the  Illinois,  trailing  back 
through  the  valley  they  had  given  up,  came  in 
a  great  rejoicing  army,  with  their  women  and 
their  papooses,  to  the  north  bank  of  the  river. 
Strong-armed  Indian  women  raised  the  poles 
for  new  lodges  and  laid  fresh  mats  upon  the 
framework.  They  brought  wood  which  they 
laid  in  piles  down  the  center  of  each  long  lodge; 
and  soon  out  of  holes  in  a  hundred  roofs  rose 
the  smoke  from  the  fires  of  the  Illinois.  They 
stirred  the  soil  in  the  neglected  fields  and 
planted  new  crops.  As  best  they  could  they  put 
to  rights  the  desecrated  graves  of  their  dead, 
and  took  up  again  the  life  they  had  left  off  at 
the  time  of  the  Iroquois  invasion. 

But  it  was  not  quite  the  same  to  these 
Illinois,  for  the  blight  of  overwhelming  disaster 
still  lay  upon  them  and  fear  smoldered  deep 
down  in  each  heart.  When  they  looked  up  the 
river  to  where  Fort  St.  Louis  stood  guard  like  a 
sentinel  upon  its  high  rock,  they  took  courage; 

198 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

but  when  they  turned  away  and  looked  upon 
the  scenes  which  they  had  just  redeemed  from 
Iroquois  desolation,  their  hearts  sometimes 
failed  them. 

Families  from  all  of  the  tribes  of  the  Illinois 
Confederacy  now  gathered  in  the  village,  ready 
to  join  hands  in  a  common  cause  with  the 
Shawnees  and  other  nations  from  the  south, 
and  eager  to  ally  themselves  once  more  with 
the  fickle  Miamis  who  were  still  at  their  vil- 
lages to  the  east. 

Only  the  return  of  La  Salle  to  the  Illinois 
country  had  kept  the  Miamis  from  leaving  their 
villages  near  the  foot  of  the  Lake  and  fleeing  to 
the  Mississippi;  and  even  now,  with  Fort  St. 
Louis  built  and  garrisoned  and  with  the  Illi- 
nois and  Shawnees  gathered  in  the  vicinity, 
they  were  thrown  into  a  panic  by  news  from  the 
St.  Lawrence  River  that  the  Iroquois  were  on 
their  way  to  the  valley  of  the  Illinois. 

The  French  and  Indians  at  La  Salle's  colony 
having  learned  of  the  Miami  alarm,  La  Salle 
made  ready  to  go  at  once  to  their  villages  to 
reassure  them.  The  Illinois,  however,  looked 
with  dread  upon  his  going,  and  they  tried 
to  dissuade  him.    Perhaps  they  recalled  too 

199 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

vividly  the  disasters  that  followed  his  departure 
three  years  before.  Then,  too,  they  had  heard 
evil  rumors.  The  French  at  Green  Bay  had  told 
their  traders  that  if  the  Illinois  settled  near  La 
Salle,  he  would  abandon  them  to  the  Iroquois. 
The  Indians  frankly  recounted  these  tales,  and 
La  Salle  patiently  told  them  of  his  enemies 
at  Green  Bay  who  wished  him  ill,  —  perhaps 
because  they  were  jealous  of  his  beaver  trade, 
—  and  he  promised  them  that,  although  it  was 
important  for  him  to  go  on  from  the  Miami 
villages  to  Canada,  he  would  come  back  at  once 
if  the  Iroquois  should  approach. 

Partly  reassured  they  let  him  go.  They  did 
not  know  what  grievous  burdens  weighed  upon 
La  Salle  as  he  took  his  way  eastward.  At  the 
fort  in  charge  of  Tonty  he  had  left  only  twenty 
Frenchmen,  with  hardly  a  hundred  rounds  of 
powder  and  ball.  Again  and  again  he  had  sent 
men  down  to  the  Canadian  settlements  to  bring 
back  supplies  and  ammunition  and  French 
volunteers  for  his  garrison.  But  they  had  not 
come  back;  and  La  Salle  rightly  suspected 
that  the  new  governor,  La  Barre,  who  had 
succeeded  Frontenac  at  Quebec,  was  in  league 
with  his  enemies  and  willing  to  wreck  his  colony 

200 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

by  preventing  his  men  from  returning  with  sup- 
plies and  reinforcements.  His  only  hope  was  to 
go  in  person  to  Canada  to  secure  aid ;  and  this 
he  intended  to  do  after  seeing  the  Miamis. 

Finding  the  Miamis  full  of  terror  and  ready 
to  fly,  he  immediately  called  the  chiefs  and 
elders  in  to  a  council.  If  the  Miamis,  instead  of 
fleeing  to  the  Mississippi,  would  move  over  and 
join  his  colony  at  the  fort,  they  would  all  fight 
their  battles  together.  He  was  going  East  now 
for  reinforcements ;  but  if  he  should  hear  of  the 
near  approach  of  the  Iroquois,  he  would  join 
them  at  Fort  St.  Louis  at  once.  The  Miamis 
gave  attentive  ear  to  La  Salle.  Was  he  not 
their  brother  Ouabicolcata,  raised  from  the 
dead  to  protect  them?  The  next  day  they  be- 
gan to  move  in  three  great  armies  toward  Fort 
St.  Louis,  while  La  Salle  went  on  toward  the 
Lake. 

From  the  Miami  camp  a  hunter  started  out 
one  day  accompanied  by  his  dog.  Following  a 
roebuck,  he  strayed  off  from  his  band  and  was 
suddenly  attacked  by  four  Iroquois  and  fatally 
wounded.  The  dog,  seeing  his  master  shot 
down,  began  to  bark  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 
The  Iroquois,  in  alarm,  took  to  their  heels.  At 

201 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

once  the  Miamis  were  hot  upon  their  trail. 
They  followed  their  tracks  until  they  came  to  a 
trail  so  broadly  beaten  as  to  indicate  a  large 
army  of  the  enemy.  Realizing  their  lack  of 
numbers,  the  Miamis  retraced  their  steps  and 
made  haste  to  combine  their  three  armies  into 
one  before  continuing  the  journey. 

The  alarm,  meanwhile,  had  reached  the  col- 
ony about  the  fort,  and  war  parties  of  Illinois 
left  their  village  to  meet  the  oncoming  foe.  Soon 
they  encountered  an  Iroquois  party  of  forty 
and  took  one  of  them  prisoner.  With  savage 
glee  they  brought  him  into  camp.  Perhaps  he 
was  one  of  the  hated  band  that  had  despoiled 
their  village.  It  was  their  turn  now  for  ven- 
geance. They  presented  the  captive  to  Tonty 
to  be  put  to  death.  But  Tonty  replied  that  it 
was  not  the  custom  of  his  people  to  kill  their 
prisoners  of  war.  Then  they  offered  him  to  their 
allies,  the  Shawnees,  who  with  savage  ceremo- 
nies burned  him  to  death. 

The  Illinois  had  won  a  victory  over  the  in- 
vaders, but  it  did  not  bring  them  security.  They 
wished  for  the  return  of  La  Salle;  and  Tonty 
sent  off  two  runners  at  top  speed  to  tell  his  chief 
that  if  he  did  not  return  at  once  the  tribes  were 

202 


THE  GATHERING  OF  THE  TRIBES 

likely  to  melt  away  to  the  Far  West  and  out  of 
reach  of  the  Iroquois. 

It  was  not  long  until  the  army  of  the  Miamis 
arrived.  A  league  above  the  fort,  on  the  north 
side  of  the  river,  was  a  long  rock  bluff,  and  here 
they  settled  and  put  up  their  lodges.  La  Salle, 
true  to  his  promise,  soon  came  back  to  the  col- 
ony, much  to  the  joy  of  both  Indians  and 
whites.  From  his  high  fort  on  the  rock  he  now 
looked  down  upon  Indian  villages,  with  their 
thousands  of  Indian  braves  gathered  like  the 
army  of  a  mediaeval  baron,  and  rejoiced  in  the 
thought  that  a  long'  step  had  been  made  to- 
ward the  realization  of  his  dream  of  the  Great 
Valley. 


XXIII 

FORT    ST.   LOUIS 

The  summer  that  followed  the  return  of  La 
Salle  to  Fort  St.  Louis  was  an  anxious  one  for 
the  colony.  Iroquois  were  still  in  the  valley,  and 
the  Indians  about  the  fort  were  full  of  an  appre- 
hension that  sometimes  almost  amounted  to 
panic.  Yet  they  clung  to  their  faith  in  their 
French  protectors;  and  the  bands  of  invaders, 
not  wishing  to  taste  the  vengeance  of  so  strong 
a  union  of  their  enemies,  did  not  that  summer 
molest  the  group  of  villages. 

But  the  months  of  waiting  brought  no  aid  or 
reinforcements  to  the  fort  on  the  high  rock,  and 
each  day  made  it  more  clear  that  La  Salle's  ene- 
mies were  in  power  in  Canada.  More  strongly 
than  ever  there  grew  upon  him  the  determina- 
tion to  go  in  person  to  France  and  fit  out  an  ex- 
pedition which  could  come  by  sea  to  the  mouth 
of  the  Mississippi  and  thence  with  men  and  sup- 
plies to  the  fort  on  the  Illinois.  Finally  he  could 
wait  no  longer;  and  so,  late  in  August,  accom- 
panied by  two  Shawnee  Indians,  he  left  the  fort 

204 


FORT  ST.  LOUIS 

in  charge  of  Tonty  and  started  upon  his  long 
journey. 

La  Salle  had  not  gone  far  upon  his  way  when 
he  met  a  fleet  of  canoes  laden  with  Frenchmen 
and  supplies.  If  there  arose  in  his  mind  any 
flicker  of  hope  that  these  were  his  own  men  re- 
turning at  last  with  reinforcements,  it  soon  died 
out,  for  the  leader  of  the  party,  the  Chevalier 
de  Baugis,  brought  with  him  a  commission  as 
commander  of  Fort  St.  Louis  in  place  of  La 
Salle,  to  whom  he  presented  an  order  from  the 
new  governor  of  Canada  commanding  him  to 
proceed  at  once  to  Quebec.  There  was  nothing 
to  be  done  but  submit.  Before  continuing  his 
journey,  La  Salle  sent  a  letter  to  Tonty  telling 
him  to  give  up  gracefully,  but  to  remain  at  the 
fort  to  take  care  of  their  private  possessions. 

When  the  Chevalier  de  Baugis  arrived  at  the 
rock,  Tonty  turned  over  the  command  of  the 
fort;  and  the  garrison,  now  reinforced  but  full 
of  unquiet,  began  to  prepare  for  the  winter  sea- 
son. It  was  not  a  period  of  harmony  at  the  fort, 
for  the  new  officer  had  little  ability  in  governing 
a  Western  post  and  spent  much  of  his  time  in 
trying  to  alienate  the  followers  of  La  Salle. 
Tonty,  in  spite  of  his  leader's  orders  to  live 

205 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

at  peace  with  his  successor,  was  not  able  to 
endure  such  performances,  and  many  and  bit- 
ter were  the  clashes  between  the  two  men  that 
winter. 

But  with  the  spring  came  an  event  which,  for 
the  time  at  least,  made  the  men  at  the  fort  put 
aside  their  quarrels  and  work  side  by  side.  Iro- 
quois bands,  it  appeared,  still  lingered  in  the 
Western  country,  particularly  around  the  head- 
waters of  the  Kankakee  and  over  toward  the 
Mississippi.  They  had  not  had  sufficient  cour- 
age to  attack  the  colony  which  La  Salle  had 
founded;  but  they  found  other  prey. 

A  group  of  fourteen  Frenchmen,  in  canoes, 
was  making  its  way,  in  March,  1684,  toward 
the  Illinois.  The  new  governor,  La  Barre  him- 
self, had  sent  them  out  to  trade  in  that  region  in 
spite  of  the  fact  that  the  King  of  France  had 
given  to  La  Salle  exclusive  control  of  the  fur 
trade  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois.  They  were 
approaching  some  rapids  in  the  Kankakee 
River  one  day,  little  suspecting  danger,  when 
two  hundred  Iroquois  suddenly  appeared  on 
the  bank. 

Sixty  Indians  leaped  into  the  water  and  cap- 
tured the  canoes,  which  with  little  ado  they 

206 


FORT   ST.  LOUIS 

drew  to  the  bank.  The  terror-stricken  French- 
men wildly  protested  as  the  dripping  savages, 
their  wet  bodies  glistening  and  their  faces 
lighted  with  the  lust  of  plunder,  pillaged  the 
seven  canoes  and  carried  off  the  owners.  With 
fine  contempt  the  Iroquois  tore  into  pieces  the 
Frenchmen's  permits  from  the  governor.  A  few 
of  the  Indians  took  charge  of  the  canoes  with 
their  valuable  load  of  merchandise,  while  the 
others  drove  their  captives  across  country  for 
nine  days  toward  Fort  St.  Louis. 

As  they  went  the  white  men  were  plied  with 
questions  as  to  the  fort.  Was  the  Man  with  the 
Iron  Hand  there?  Was  La  Salle  at  the  fort? 
When  the  French  replied  that  a  new  com- 
mander was  in  charge  and  that  La  Salle  had 
been  recalled,  the  wily  savages  said  that  they 
knew  it,  but  were  asking  to  see  if  the  French 
were  telling  the  truth.  They  were  going,  they 
said,  to  attack  the  fort.  Finally  they  let  the 
Frenchmen  go,  threatening  to  break  their 
heads,  however,  if  they  were  found  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  fort. 

The  Iroquois  pushed  on  to  their  conquest. 
When  they  sighted  the  high  rock,  they  ad- 
vanced cautiously,  only  to  find  the  frowning 

207 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

citadel  prepared  for  battle.  Runners  had  come 
to  the  fort  the  day  before  with  news  of  the  Iro- 
quois approach.  Up  to  the  base  of  the  rock  the 
invaders  crept  and  drove  arrow  and  ball  at  the 
heights  above.  They  even  tried  an  assault  up 
the  rugged  pathway,  but  were  repulsed  with 
great  loss.  For  six  days  they  besieged  the  wil- 
derness castle,  but  all  in  vain.  At  length  they 
made  a  few  captives  from  the  neighboring 
tribes  and  tried  to  creep  off.  But  the  bands 
of  Shawnees  and  Illinois  and  Miamis  had  been 
waiting  their  turn,  and  now  hard  upon  the  heels 
of  the  retreating  foe  they  pushed  with  eager 
weapons.  They  killed  many  and  brought  their 
scalps  home  in  triumph  to  the  villages  around 
the  rock.  Fort  St.  Louis  had  had  its  baptism 
of  fire —  and  the  fire  had  only  hardened  the 
courage  of  the  garrison  and  the  Indians  of  the 
colony. 

Two  months  after  this  attack  upon  the  fort, 
there  came  down  the  river  a  fleet  of  French 
canoes  under  command  of  Sieur  de  la  Duran- 
taye  and  containing  sixty  Frenchmen  as  rein- 
forcements for  the  garrison  upon  the  rock. 
Durantaye  was  a  brave  officer  who  had  been 
sent  out  the  year  before  by  Governor  La  Barre 

208 


FORT  ST.  LOUIS 

to  the  posts  on  the  Lake  of  the  Illinois.  Many  a 
time  he  had  found  it  necessary  to  make  trips  to 
Fort  St.  Louis  to  give  assistance  to  the  incapa- 
ble Chevalier  de  Baugis.  On  this  occasion  there 
came  with  him  from  Green  Bay  the  priest  Al- 
louez,  who  gathered  up  his  black  robe  as  he 
climbed  the  steep  pathway  to  the  fort. 

Well  did  the  Indians  know  this  priest.  Years 
before  he  had  come  to  take  the  place  of  their  be- 
loved Father  Marquette.  And  then  on  Christ- 
mas Eve,  in  the  winter  of  their  disaster,  he  had 
heard  from  the  Miamis  that  La  Salle  was  com- 
ing and  had  vanished  like  a  spirit  into  the  night. 
In  the  years  that  followed  there  had  come  from 
Green  Bay,  where  he  had  gone,  constant  rumors 
that  La  Salle  was  their  enemy.  Now  was  this 
man  come  again  to  them  when  La  Salle  was 
gone  and  Tonty  robbed  of  his  power. 

The  visit  of  Durantaye  was  not  alone  to 
bring  reinforcements,  for  he  had  with  him  an 
order  from  Governor  La  Barre  commanding 
Tonty  to  leave  the  fort  and  go  to  Quebec.  Tonty 
did  not  hesitate.  Boisrondet,  with  a  few  faith- 
ful followers,  remained  in  the  fort,  while  the 
Man  with  the  Iron  Hand,  taking  leave  of  white 
and  red  friends,  set  off  almost  alone  up  the  river 

209 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

toward  distant  Canada.  He  had  spent  nearly 
six  years  in  the  wilderness  —  faithful  years  in 
which  he  had  followed  his  leader  through  ill  fate 
and  fortune.  He  had  made  warm  friends  with  a 
dozen  tribes  and  helped  gather  them  together 
in  the  colony  about  Fort  St.  Louis.  Now  with 
a  great  bitterness  he  saw  fort  and  colony  turned 
over  to  those  who,  though  French,  were  yet 
enemies  of  his  friend  La  Salle. 

Durantaye  returned  to  the  Lake,  and  De 
Baugis  was  left  to  do  as  he  pleased.  The  In- 
dians did  not  find  in  him  the  qualities  they  had 
admired  in  La  Salle  and  Tonty.  He  knew  little 
of  their  ways  and  perhaps  cared  less  to  learn 
about  them.  Trouble  soon  arose  in  the  colony 
and  he  was  powerless  to  check  it.  The  Miamis, 
rising  suddenly,  fell  upon  the  Illinois  with  great 
slaughter;  thus  making  probable  a  disruption 
of  the  colony  and  the  inevitable  destruction  of 
both  nations  by  the  Iroquois. 

A  year  of  incompetent  rule  went  by.  Then  in 
the  month  of  June,  1685,  word  came  to  the 
tribes  that  Tonty  had  come  back.  Down  the 
river  which  he  had  ascended  alone  with  sorrow 
in  his  heart,  he  now  came  in  triumph,  and 
climbing  the  path  to  the  fort  held  out  in  his  left 

210 


FORT  ST.  LOUIS 

hand  an  order  to  De  Baugis  to  give  him  back 
the  command  of  the  fort  and  garrison. 

La  Salle  in  France  had  won  the  favor  of  the 
king.  He  had  been  given  ships  to  make  a  voy- 
age to  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  and  men  to 
man  them,  and  guns  and  supplies  and  merchan- 
dise. All  this  had  happened  in  the  spring  and 
summer  of  1684.  La  Forest,  one  of  La  Salle's 
lieutenants,  was  sent  from  Paris  to  Canada  to 
take  charge  of  Fort  Frontenac,  which  La  Barre 
had  seized,  and  to  give  to  Tonty  a  commission 
as  captain  and  the  governorship  of  Fort  St. 
Louis.  La  Forest  had  gone  out  to  Fort  Fron- 
tenac that  fall,  but  winter  prevented  Tonty 
from  reaching  his  far  western  post  until  June  of 
the  following  year. 

After  the  disappointed  De  Baugis  had  left, 
Tonty  set  about  conciliating  the  tribes.  This 
was  no  easy  task.  But  the  Illinois  and  the 
Miamis  finally  listened  to  his  persuasions,  ac- 
cepted his  gifts,  and  agreed  once  more  to  live  in 
peace. 

To  Tonty  it  must  have  seemed  that  the 
vision  which  he  cherished  and  shared  with  La 
Salle  was  nearer  realization  than  ever  before. 
It  was  now  almost  a  year  since  La  Salle  had  set 

211 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

sail  from  France.  Perhaps  by  this  time  he  had 
already  founded  his  fort  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi  and  was  coming  up  the  Great  River 
to  join  the  followers  who  so  eagerly  waited  for 
him  at  Fort  St.  Louis. 


XXIV 

THE   LOST   CHIEF 

From  their  winter  camp  on  the  river  banks 
eighty  leagues  below  Fort  St.  Louis  a  band  of 
Illinois  looked  up,  late  in  February  of  1686,  to 
see  their  friend  Tonty,  with  twenty-five  French- 
men and  a  handful  of  Shawnees,  come  paddling 
down  the  stream.  In  June  of  the  year  before,  he 
had  come  back  to  take  command  of  the  fort 
with  the  good  news  that  La  Salle  had  sailed 
from  France  for  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi. 
During  the  summer  he  had  persuaded  their 
chiefs  to  join  in  peace  once  more  with  the 
Miamis. 

But  with  the  fall  disquieting  news  had  come. 
Rumor  said  that  La  Salle  had  landed  on  the 
shore  of  the  Gulf;  that  one  of  his  ships  was 
wrecked  and  pillaged  by  the  Southern  tribes 
who  had  attacked  him;  and  that  he  was  strug- 
gling with  Indian  foes  and  sorely  in  need  of  food. 
Tonty,  greatly  alarmed,  had  gone  up  to  Mack- 
inac, but  had  learned  little  to  encourage  him  in 
regard  to  his  leader. 

213 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

Returning  to  the  fort,  most  of  the  way  on 
foot,  he  sent  out  Indians  to  the  Mississippi  River 
in  search  of  news.  But  they  found  none.  Then 
Tonty  determined  to  go  himself  down  the  river 
to  the  sea  in  search  of  his  lost  chief.  He  started 
in  the  middle  of  winter  with  nearly  half  of  his 
garrison.  For  forty  leagues  they  dragged  their 
canoes  over  the  ice  of  the  river  until  they  came 
to  open  water  halfway  down  to  the  Indian 
camp. 

Tonty  had  little  time  to  linger  in  the  camp, 
but  he  had  exciting  news  to  tell  the  Indians.  La 
Barre,  governor  of  Canada,  had  been  withdrawn 
and  the  new  governor,  Marquis  Denonville, 
was  planning  a  great  war  upon  the  Iroquois  vil- 
lages. He  wanted  Tonty  to  gather  a  band  of 
Western  Indians  and  join  with  other  bands 
under  Du  Luth  and  Durantaye  to  reinforce  the 
army  from  Canada,  and  he  had  sent  word  to 
Tonty  to  come  to  Canada  to  confer  with  him 
about  the  matter.  But  Tonty  had  insisted  that 
his  first  duty  was  to  search  for  La  Salle;  the 
other  must  await  his  return.  Would  the  Illinois 
join  him  the  next  spring  and  help  wage  war 
upon  the  land  of  their  enemies  ? 

Tonty  knew  well  that  there  could  only  be  one 
214 


THE  LOST  CHIEF 

answer  to  his  question.  The  Illinois,  who  keenly 
remembered  the  fiendish  raids  upon  their  land, 
now  saw  their  opportunity  for  revenge ;  and  at 
once  they  began  to  dream  of  the  time  when 
Tonty  should  return  from  his  voyage.  But  they 
were  anxious,  too,  for  news  of  La  Salle,  and  they 
gave  Tonty  five  of  their  men  to  accompany  him 
to  the  mouth  of  the  river. 

With  this  addition  to  the  party  Tonty's  men 
dipped  their  paddles  into  the  cold  stream  and 
were  soon  out  of  sight,  leaving  the  Illinois  camp 
buzzing  with  excitement.  The  fleet  of  canoes 
soon  entered  the  Mississippi  and  made  swift 
progress  down  its  broad  current.  Somewhere 
above  the  mouth  of  the  Arkansas  River,  after 
Tonty  and  his  men  had  been  traveling  many 
days,  they  happened  upon  a  war  party  of  a  hun- 
dred Kappas.  The  Indians  made  ready  for  war 
at  first  sight  of  the  canoes,  but,  finding  who  it 
was,  brought  out  the  pipe  of  peace  and  together 
the  two  parties  went  on  to  the  village. 

Here  and  at  the  lower  Arkansas  villages  the 
Indians  danced  the  calumet  dance  before  Tonty 
and  sent  him  on  his  way  in  peace.  The  French- 
men made  a  visit  to  the  village  on  the  lake  where 
the  white-robed  Taensas  welcomed  them.  They, 

2IS 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

too,  danced  the  calumet  dance  and  were  most 
cordial  to  the  visitors.  But  Tonty  could  not 
stop  long.  His  canoes  were  full  of  food  for  the 
hungry  La  Salle,  and  he  had  men  and  guns  to 
help  his  chief  fight  battles.  He  must  hasten 
on  to  the  sea.  At  the  village  of  the  Coroas  he 
stopped  long  enough  to  upbraid  the  chief  for  the 
treachery  of  his  tribe  four  years  before.  He 
passed  the  village  of  the  Quinipissas  without 
landing. 

On  the  9th  day  of  April,  Tonty  and  his  party 
came  to  the  sea.  Four  years  before  on  this  same 
day  La  Salle  had  raised  the  cross  and  the  arms 
of  France  and  had  taken  possession  of  the  Great 
Valley  for  the  king.  But  now,  though  he  had 
had  nearly  two  years  to  reach  the  mouth  of  the 
river  by  sea,  La  Salle  was  nowhere  to  be  found. 
Nor  was  there  any  sign  that  he  and  his  ships  and 
men  had  been  there.  Tonty's  anxiety  deep- 
ened as  he  searched  in  vain  the  neighboring 
channels.  He  made  up  two  exploring  parties 
and  sent  one  east  and  one  west  along  the  coast 
of  the  Gulf.  Throwing  together  a  rude  fort  on 
an  island  near  the  mouth,  he  waited.  When 
three  days  were  gone  both  parties  had  returned. 
They  had  explored  more  than  half  a  hundred 

216 


THE  LOST  CHIEF 

leagues  of  the  coast,  and  had  come  back  because 
their  drinking-water  was  gone.  They  had  seen 
nothing  but  wet  shores  and  the  salty  sea.  No- 
where was  there  sign  of  the  lost  chief. 

Up  in  Canada,  meanwhile,  Governor  Denon- 
ville  was  waiting  for  Tonty  to  come  and  confer 
with  him  about  the  Iroquois  raid.  Tonty  took 
counsel  with  his  men.  One  thing  more  might 
be  done.  They  were  a  considerable  party  —  a 
third  of  a  hundred — and  they  had  stout  canoes. 
Why  not  skirt  the  coast  of  the  Gulf,  round  the 
point  of  Florida,  pass  up  the  eastern  shore  of 
the  continent  as  far  as  New  York,  and  thence 
across  to  Canada  and  the  waiting  governor?  It 
was  a  bold  plan,  but  a  reckless  one,  and  Tonty 
did  not  insist  upon  it. 

With  heavy  heart  he  finally  began  the  ascent 
of  the  river.  The  wind  and  waves  had  wrought 
havoc  with  the  arms  of  the  king  which  La  Salle 
had  raised,  and  Tonty  replaced  them.  In  a  hole 
in  a  tree  he  left  a  letter  for  La  Salle,  and  then 
went  on  to  the  village  of  the  Quinipissas.  These 
Indians  were  a  chastened  people,  for  the  years 
had  not  wiped  from  their  memory  the  punish- 
ment that  La  Salle  had  put  upon  them  for  their 
treachery.  Now  they  sued  humbly  for  peace, 

217 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

and  Tonty  granted  it.  Then  he  wrote  another 
letter  to  his  leader  and  gave  it  to  the  chief  of  the 
Quinipissas,  telling  him  to  deliver  it  to  La  Salle 
if  he  ever  came  into  this  region.  The  Indian 
clung  to  this  letter  like  a  sacred  treasure  and 
thirteen  years  later  gave  it  proudly  into  the 
hands  of  a  white  chief  who  had  come  up  the 
river  from  the  sea. 

Tonty  and  his  companions  continued  their 
journey.  When  they  reached  the  mouth  of  the 
Arkansas  some  of  the  men  asked  leave  to  plant 
a  new  French  settlement  on  a  tract  of  land 
which  La  Salle  had  granted  to  Tonty  four  years 
before.  Tonty  was  willing ;  and  so  Jean  Couture 
and  several  others  pitched  camp  on  the  shore  of 
the  Arkansas  River  near  its  mouth  and  watched 
their  comrades  pass  on  without  them.  Then 
they  built  a  log  house  with  a  palisade  of  stakes 
around  it.  It  was  a  small  settlement,  but  it  was 
of  strange  importance  in  the  story  of  the  next 
three  years. 

On  the  24th  of  June  the  disappointed  search 
party  was  welcomed  on  the  high  rock  of  Fort 
St.  Louis.  But  Tonty  could  not  tarry  at  the 
fort.  Taking  with  him  two  Illinois  chiefs,  he 
went  on  up  the  river  and  across  the  Great 

218 


THE  LOST  CHIEF    g 

Lakes  to  where  Denonville  waited  to  t^ing  off 
him.  in  In- 

Plans  for  a  great  gathering  of  the  enem  was 
the  Iroquois  took  form  rapidly.  The  two  IllirJie 
chiefs,  who  came  back  from  the  visit  to  tht, 
Canadian  governor  late  in  1686,  were  full  of 
tales  that  roused  their  people.  Runners,  sent 
out  from  the  fort,  informed  all  the  tribes  that 
war  was  to  be  waged  in  the  spring  and  asked 
them  to  join  Tonty  at  Fort  St.  Louis. 

When  April  of  1687  came,  the  fort  on  the  rock 
saw  the  smoke  rise  from  many  fires,  for  Tonty 
was  giving  a  dog-feast  for  his  Indian  warriors. 
Illinois,  Shawnees,  Mohegans,  and  Miamis 
gathered  for  the  fray.  La  Forest  had  already 
set  out  with  a  band  of  Frenchmen;  Durantaye 
and  Du  Luth  were  gathering  together  their  war- 
riors over  on  the  Lake;  and  in  the  latter  part  of 
April,  Bellefontaine,  left  with  twenty  men  in 
charge  of  the  fort,  watched  Tonty  with  sixteen 
Frenchmen  and  the  band  of  Indian  braves  de- 
part for  the  war  in  the  far  East. 


THE  M 

and  Tor 

letter t 

Quini  XXV 

if>- 

NEWS   FROM   LA   SALLE 

Spring  and  summer  passed  quietly  along  the 
Illinois  River.  Tonty  and  his  combined  army 
had  not  yet  returned  from  the  Iroquois  war;  and 
those  who  had  stayed  at  home  to  protect  the 
fort  and  villages  found  no  invaders  to  molest 
them.  Boisrondet,  the  commissary  of  the  fort, 
was  busy  with  the  fields  of  the  French.  The  In- 
dians, too,  planted  their  crops  and  tended  them. 
The  braves  visited  the  little  garrison  from  time 
to  time,  hunted  and  fished  some,  gambled  with 
cherry-stones  more,  and  basked  in  the  sun  most 
of  all. 

September  was  half  gone,  and  still  there  was 
nothing  to  break  the  monotony.  The  fourteenth 
of  the  month  was  Sunday,  and  perhaps  in  the 
fort  the  black-robed  Father  Allouez,  sick  and 
confined  to  his  room,  took  some  notice  of  the 
day.  But  to  the  Indians,  one  day  was  like  an- 
other. It  so  happened  that  a  group  of  them 
early  in  the  afternoon  'frere  in  the  fields  down 
the  river  from  the  fort.  Suddenly  one  of  their 

220 


NEWS   FROM  LA  SALLE 

number,  a  Shawnee  named  Turpin,  looking  off 
to  the  stream  sparkling  in  the  sun,  saw  an  In- 
dian dugout  approaching.  In  a  moment  he  was 
at  the  water's  edge  scanning  with  eager  eyes  the 
occupants  of  the  bark.  They  came  nearer,  were 
even  with  him,  passed  by  upstream;  but  he 
recognized  no  one  of  them.  There  was  a  strap- 
ping big  Frenchman,  two  men  in  priestly  robes, 
two  other  white  men,  and  several  strange  In- 
dians. Where  had  these  men  come  from?  No 
one  knew  of  their  going  down  the  river. 

When  the  strangers  had  passed,  Turpin 
slipped  across  the  fields  and  again  came  to  the 
bank  of  the  river  higher  up.  This  time  the  men 
in  the  dugout  called  to  him.  They  were  of  the 
party  of  La  Salle,  they  said.  For  a  while  the 
Indian  studied  them  intently.  Then  catching 
the  name  La  Salle,  he  was  off  on  the  dead  run 
to  the  fort.  Up  the  steep  pathway  he  went  as  if 
on  wings,  and  burst  into  the  palisaded  entrance 
with  the  cry  that  La  Salle  was  coming. 

Out  of  the  inclosure  with  a  bound  jumped 
Boisrondet  and  the  blacksmith,  and  down  the 
side  of  the  rock  and  around  the  base  to  the  bank 
of  the  river  they  went  faster  than  the  Indian 
had  come.  Another  Frenchman  and  a  group  of 

221 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

Indians  were  ahead  of  them,  however,  and  were 
already  leading  the  white  men  to  the  fort.  Full 
of  surprise  and  joy  Boisrondet  and  his  comrade 
embraced  the  strangers,  who  were  five  in  num- 
ber. The  quick  eye  of  Boisrondet  ran  over  all  of 
them,  then  looked  back  toward  the  river. 

"But  where  is  La  Salle?"  he  asked.  Of  the 
two  men  who  replied,  one  was  a  heavy-built, 
honest-faced  man,  the  other  a  priest.  The  priest 
was  the  Abbe  Cavelier,  an  own  brother  of  La 
Salle;  his  companion  was  Henri  Joutel,  a 
trusted  follower  of  the  lost  chief.  La  Salle, 
they  said,  had  accompanied  them  part  of  the 
way  and  had  left  them  at  a  place  about  forty 
leagues  from  the  village  of  the  Cenis ;  and  when 
he  left  them  he  was  in  good  health. 

If  there  was  anything  peculiar  about  their 
reply  Boisrondet  did  not  at  the  time  seriously 
note  it.  Nor  did  he  notice  the  silence  of  the 
gray-robed  friar  who  stood  beside  the  speakers. 
He  was  too  full  of  joy  at  news  from  his  chief, 
and  listened  with  ready  ear  as  they  added  that 
they  had  orders  from  La  Salle  to  go  on  to 
France  to  report  his  travels  and  bring  aid. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when, 
after  their  exchange  of  greetings,  the  whole 

222 


NEWS   FROM   LA   SALLE 

party  climbed  to  the  fort  towering  high  above 
the  landscape.  Volleys  from  the  guns  of  the 
garrison  saluted  them,  and  the  commander, 
Bellefontaine,  came  forward  to  greet  them. 
Then  the  strangers  crossed  over  to  the  little 
chapel  to  give  thanks  on  that  September  Sab- 
bath for  their  safe  arrival  among  friends. 

Father  Allouez,  who  lay  sick  in  his  room,  re- 
ceived with  alarm  the  news  that  a  party  of  La 
Salle's  men  had  arrived  at  the  fort.  Was  La 
Salle  among  them?  With  great  relief  he  learned 
that  he  was  not.  Allouez  sent  word  that  he 
would  like  to  talk  with  some  of  the  party; 
and  so  La  Salle's  brother  and  the  quiet  Father 
Douay,  together  with  Joutel,  entered  the  sick 
man's  chamber. 

At  first  they  talked  of  other  matters  —  of 
affairs  in  far-away  France,  of  the  stamping-out 
of  the  heresy  of  Calvinism,  and  of  the  twenty 
years'  truce  with  the  Emperor.  At  length  the 
sick  man  asked  them  of  La  Salle.  As  they  had 
told  Boisrondet,  so  they  now  told  Allouez  that 
La  Salle  was  well  when  they  parted  from  him  — 
and  they  added  that  he  also  had  planned  to 
come  to  the  Illinois  country  and  perhaps  would 
be  there  before  long.  Thereupon  the  look  of 
.      223 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

foreboding  deepened  upon  the  face  of  Allouez. 
As  they  left  the  sick-room  the  three  men  asked 
themselves  why  the  priest  seemed  so  displeased 
at  the  coming  of  La  Salle. 

The  arrival  of  the  five  men  of  La  Salle's  party 
was  a  welcome  break  in  the  monotony  of  life  in 
the  little  colony;  and  glad  would  the  garrison 
and  the  Indians  alike  have  been  to  have  had 
them  stay.  But  they  were  anxious  to  go  on  — 
in  particular  the  Abbe  Cavelier,  who  seemed  to 
be  impatient  of  delay.  He  asked  Boisrondet  for 
a  canoe  and  men  to  take  them  on  to  the  Lakes, 
for  the  Arkansas  guides  who  had  brought  them 
up  the  river  must  now  return  with  their  canoe 
to  their  own  people.  Yes,  Boisrondet  replied, 
he  had  a  canoe,  but  the  difficulty  was  to  find 
capable  men  for  guides.  On  Wednesday,  how- 
ever, three  canoe-men  arrived  from  Mackinac 
and  agreed  to  conduct  the  party  to  that  post. 

Four  days  after  their  arrival  at  the  fort  the 
visitors  were  again  on  their  way  to  the  Lakes 
and  Canada  with  Shawnee  Indians  to  carry 
their  provisions.  When  they  reached  the  Lake 
of  the  Illinois  the  waves  were  tossing  to  an 
alarming  height  and  storms  kept  them  on 
shore  for  a  week  or  more.  At  last,  giving  up  in 

224 


NEWS  FROM  LA  SALLE 

despair,  they  turned  about,  buried  their  sup- 
plies in  a  cache,  and  walked  across  country- 
back  to  the  fort. 

Already  the  Indian  warriors  from  Tonty's 
party  were  straggling  back  full  of  the  good  news 
of  an  overwhelming  defeat  of  the  Seneca  Nation 
of  Iroquois.  Tonty,  with  his  Frenchmen  and 
their  Indian  allies,  had  taken  a  valiant  part  in 
the  great  raid  in  July,  and  now  was  on  his  way 
homeward.  The  colony  took  on  new  life,  as  with 
each  incoming  group  the  joy  of  the  Indians 
increased. 

At  length,  on  October  27,  Tonty  himself  came 
down  the  river  and  climbed  the  path  to  Fort  St. 
Louis.  Guns  roared,  the  men  at  the  fort  crowded 
around  him,  and  admiring  Indians  hung  upon 
his  footsteps.  But  these  five  strangers !  Tonty's 
eyes  fell  upon  the  long  robe  and  the  priestly 
face  of  the  Abbe  Cavelier.  La  Salle's  brother 
here  in  his  fort!  Well  did  he  know  the  face,  and 
little  did  he  like  its  owner;  but  he  had  been 
one  of  the  lost  party.  What,  then,  of  La  Salle? 
Quick  and  intense  came  the  questions  from  the 
iron-handed  commander. 

Again  the  Abbe  and  Joutel  told  their  story. 
La  Salle  had  come  from  the  far  southwest  coast 

225 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

with  them  almost  to  the  villages  of  the  Cenis 
Indians  who  lived  west  of  the  Arkansas,  and 
there  he  had  left  them;  and  when  he  left  them  he 
was  in  good  health.  Beside  the  little  group 
stood  Father  Anastasius  Douay  with  silent  lips. 
Nor  did  the  mariner  Tessier  or  young  Cavelier, 
the  nephew  of  La  Salle  and  the  Abbe,  add  any- 
thing to  the  story. 

Tonty  paid  small  heed  to  their  silence;  for  in 
his  mind  was  the  one  great  thought  that  La 
Salle  was  alive  and  might  reach  the  fort  at  any 
time.  Four  years  before,  his  beloved  leader  had 
gone  from  the  fort  on  the  Illinois  to  Canada  and 
across  to  France;  and  three  years  before,  he  had 
sailed  from  France  for  the  mouth  of  the  Missis- 
sippi. In  all  that  time,  alternating  between 
hope  and  the  gloomy  despair  which  lately  had 
so  often  fallen  upon  his  soul,  Tonty  had  waited 
hoping  each  day  for  news  from  his  lost  chief. 
Now  it  had  come. 

Little  had  Tonty  liked  the  priestly  elder 
brother  of  his  friend;  for  in  the  days  of  the  past 
the  Abbe  Cavelier,  with  his  captious  ways,  his 
complainings  and  his  intrigues,  had  been  a 
source  of  much  annoyance  to  La  Salle.  But  let 
such  things  be  forgotten  now,  for  the  man  came 

226 


NEWS  FROM   LA  SALLE 

bringing  news  —  good  news  of  the  lost  chief. 
And  so  within  the  walls  of  Fort  St.  Louis,  in  the 
far  wilderness  of  this  Indian  country,  Tonty 
listened  as  the  Abbe  and  Joutel  told  the  story 
he  so  long  had  waited  to  hear,  the  tale  of  the 
adventures  of  three  anxious  and  exciting  years. 


XXVI 

AN   ILL-STARRED   VOYAGE 

On  the  24th  day  of  July,  three  long  years 
before,  these  five  weather-worn  men  and  their 
comrades  had  seen  the  shores  of  France  fade 
slowly  from  their  sight.  Out  of  the  harbor  of 
Rochelle  had  sailed  that  summer  day  twenty- 
four  ships.  Twenty  of  the  number  soon  drew 
away  from  the  rest  and  turned  their  bows 
toward  the  mouth  of  the  St.  Lawrence  and  New 
France;  the  other  four  sailed  on  alone. 

On  board  the  four  ships  were  near  three  hun- 
dred souls,  embarking  on  a  voyage  no  one  of 
them  had  made  before.  One  of  the  boats,  the 
Joly,  a  ship  of  war,  carried  thirty-odd  pieces 
of  cannon.  But  it  carried  also  more  precious 
cargo.  Monsieur  Beaujeu,  a  proud  man  and 
bold,  was  its  captain;  and  with  him,  as  leader  of 
the  colony  that  thus  fared  forth  to  the  glory  of 
the  King  of  France,  was  Robert  Cavelier,  Sieur 
de  La  Salle.  Restless  and  ambitious  as  ever,  he 
now  felt  under  his  feet  the  roll  of  decks  which 
the  king  had  given  him  with  godspeed  to  find 

228 


AN   ILL-STARRED  VOYAGE 

the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  River  and  plant 
there  a  settlement  that  would  be  the  begin- 
ning of  a  great  new  empire  in  the  heart  of  the 
American  wilderness. 

The  King  of  France  had  caught  a  glimpse  of 
La  Salle's  vision  of  the  future  of  the  Great 
Valley.  He  had  listened,  too,  while  La  Salle  had 
whispered  into  his  eager  ears  the  story  of  how 
the  hated  Spaniards,  clinging  these  many  years 
to  the  rich  lands  of  Mexico,  would  fall  before 
the  attacks  of  the  French,  aided  by  the  hordes 
of  Indians  whom  they  would  recruit  from  the 
colony  about  Fort  St.  Louis  and  from  the  lower 
Mississippi  Valley. 

In  the  four  ships  were  a  hundred  soldiers ;  and 
since  colonies  have  need  of  such,  there  were  car- 
penters and  tool-makers  and  bakers  and  stone- 
masons and  engineers.  There  were  also  priests 
and  friars  —  among  others  La  Salle's  brother, 
the  Abbe  Cavelier,  and  Father  Anastasius 
Douay.  On  board  one  of  the  ships  was  the 
energetic  figure  of  Father  Membre,  who  was  no 
stranger  to  the  Great  Valley  of  the  Mississippi. 
He  had  entered  it  with  La  Salle,  and  later  had 
hardly  struggled  out  of  it  with  his  friend  of  the 
iron  hand  after  the  Iroquois  raid.  He  had  come 

229 


THE   MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

back  with  the  gallant  party  that  paddled  down 
the  length  of  the  valley  to  the  sea,  and  had  been 
the  one  to  carry  news  of  the  voyage  to  Canada 
and  to  France.  Still  did  he  cling  to  the  side  of 
his  leader,  stanch  friend  that  he  was. 

Born  in  the  same  town  of  Rouen  with  La 
Salle  was  a  man  named  Henri  Joutel.  When  a 
mere  boy  he  joined  the  army,  and  after  serving 
about  sixteen  years  he  had  come  back  to  his 
native  town  in  time  to  join  others  who  were 
shipping  with  their  townsman  for  the  trip 
across  the  sea.  Last  of  all,  these  four  ships  held 
a  handful  of  women  and  girls  who  were  ready 
to  try  the  perils  of  the  sea  and  the  fearsome 
dangers  of  a  strange  land. 

Thus  they  had  sailed,  a  company  of  colon- 
ists of  all  classes  and  descriptions — good  men 
and  bad,  brave  men  and  weak,  workers  and 
drones,  gentlemen  and  stout-hearted  peasants, 
debauched  nobles  and  the  riffraff  of  seaport 
towns ;  men  who  took  their  load  and  endured 
through  hardship,  sickness,  and  despair;  and 
men  whom  Joutel  declared  were  fit  only  to  eat 
part  of  the  provisions. 

Never  had  the  unconquerable  spirit  of  La 
Salle  met  such  stubborn  blows  as  now.  In  the 

230 


AN   ILL-STARRED  VOYAGE 

first  place  the  arrangements  of  the  voyage  were 
well-nigh  fatal  to  success,  for  the  company  had 
two  heads,  each  one  a  man  accustomed  to  com- 
mand alone  and  impatient  of  any  other  author- 
ity. Beaujeu,  an  old  naval  officer  who  was  the 
captain  of  the  fleet,  saw  little  of  greatness  in 
La  Salle,  and  looked  upon  him  as  a  dreamer  if 
not  a  fanatic.  La  Salle,  leader  of  the  colony, 
with  authority  to  determine  the  route  to  be 
taken,  looked  with  distrust  upon  Beaujeu,  held 
his  own  counsel  about  his  plans,  and  regarded 
the  captain  as  his  enemy  and  the  chief  obsta- 
cle to  the  successful  outcome  of  his  mission. 
Before  ever  the  ships  set  sail  these  two  men 
had  their  quarrels,  and  on  the  open  seas  it  was 
no  better. 

Years  of  bitter  experiences,  of  wilderness 
hardships,  of  daily  and  nightly  perils,  of  dis- 
appointments and  losses,  had  hardened  the 
temper  of  La  Salle's  will;  and  these  years  had 
not  softened  a  certain  coldness  and  harshness  of 
manner  that  lost  him  many  friends.  Suspicion 
and  doubt  of  his  fellows  deepened  in  his  heart 
with  every  turn  of  his  wheel  of  fortune.  With 
all  his  remarkable  power  over  the  Indians,  he 
constantly  failed  to  understand  and  make  him- 

231  , 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

self  loved  by  the  men  of  his  own  race  over 
whom  he  was  in  command.  Naturally  with  his 
mongrel  company  of  voyagers  things  went 
sadly  wrong.  No  one  appreciated  better  than 
Tonty,  as  he  listened  to  the  tale  of  the  Abbe 
and  Joutel,  how  adventures  and  trials  such  as 
the  party  were  bound  to  meet  would  try  each 
man  and  show  him  for  a  true  man,  a  knave,  or 
a  weakling. 

At  the  island  of  Santo  Domingo  the  Joly 
made  port  and  lay  to,  waiting  for  the  balance  of 
the  fleet  which  had  fallen  behind.  There  were 
fifty  sick  in  the  company,  among  them  La 
Salle.  But  there  was  much  to  be  done  on  shore. 
While  walking  one  day  with  Joutel  in  the 
streets  of  the  little  town  of  Petit  Gouave,  La 
Salle  was  overcome  by  a  sudden  weakness  and 
sank  to  the  ground.  Joutel  took  him  as  soor  as 
possible  to  a  house  which  had  been  temporarily 
rented  by  the  Duhaut  brothers,  two  members 
of  La  Salle's  company.  Before  he  was  himself 
again  one  of  the  Duhauts  rashly  told  him  that 
Spanish  buccaneers  had  captured  one  of  the  four 
ships,  and  straightway  his  sickness  returned. 
Joutel  and  the  Abbe  said  little  to  Tonty  of  the 
elder  of  these  Duhauts,  but  in  their  own  minds 


AN   ILL-STARRED  VOYAGE 

they  thought  of  him  with  a  hate  that  had  no 
basis  in  the  tale  they  were  telling. 

For  many  weeks  La  Salle  and  his  voyagers 
were  delayed  at  Santo  Domingo,  gathering 
supplies  for  the  rest  of  the  voyage.  More  of  the 
company  fell  ill;  and  some,  fearful  of  coming 
dangers,  deserted.  At  last  they  got  away  late 
in  November  and  sailed  west  along  the  southern 
coast  of  Cuba.  Soon  they  had  passed  the  long 
island  and  turned  the  prows  of  their  ships 
toward  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 

Two  or  three  days  before  the  end  of  the  year 
1684,  they  sighted  land.  Thinking  that  they 
were  near  the  Bay  of  Appalache,  they  sailed 
westward,  in  cold  wind  and  rain  and  fog,  hoping 
each  day  to  find  the  mouth  of  the  Great  River, 
Sometimes  they  landed  men  to  explore  a  river 
mouth  or  lagoon.  Once,  on  the  6th  of  January, 
they  came  to  what  appeared  to  be  the  mouth  of 
a  bay  with  an  island  in  the  midst  of  it,  but  La 
Salle,  still  convinced  that  the  Mississippi  was 
far  to  the  west,  pushed  on  along  the  coast.  As 
January  drew  to  a  close  they  found  the  shore 
line  trending  more  and  more  to  the  south,  and 
even  La  Salle  began  to  think  they  had  gone 
beyond  the  river  they  were  seeking. 

233 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

At  length  they  landed  on  the  shore  of  a  bay 
where  a  river  ran  down  to  the  Gulf,  and  the  per- 
plexed leader  of  the  wandering  colony  made 
up  his  mind  that  they  had  found  the  western 
mouth  of  the  Mississippi.  One  of  the  ships, 
coming  into  the  bay  under  the  ill-management 
of  the  pilot,  ran  aground  and  broke  apart.  In 
despair  La  Salle  put  his  men  to  saving  the 
cargo.  Under  great  difficulties  provisions  and 
ammunition  were  rescued  from  the  fated  ship 
and  piled  on  the  lonely  shore.  Through  the  long 
night  that  followed  unfriendly  Indians  prowled 
about  eager  for  plunder,  and  sentinels  walked 
up  and  down  upon  the  sand  keeping  watch 
among  the  precious  boxes  and  barrels,  while  the 
miserable  band  of  colonists  tried  to  get  sleep. 

Discouraging  as  was  this  beginning,  greater 
misfortunes  were  not  slow  in  coming  to  the 
colony.  La  Salle's  nephew,  Moranget,  hot- 
headed and  unwise,  visited  an  Indian  village 
with  some  of  the  men  to  trade  and  to  look  for 
stolen  property;  and  when  they  took  leave  they 
made  off  with  Indian  blankets  and  canoes. 
Upon  their  return  they  camped  at  night,  their 
sentinel  slept,  and  the  Indians  crept  upon  them. 
War-whoops  rose  in  the  air  and  into  the  group 

234 


AN   ILL-STARRED  VOYAGE 

of  sleeping  white  men  by  the  smouldering  fire 
came  a  volley  of  arrows,  killing  two  of  the  com- 
pany. Moranget  finally  succeeded  in  reaching 
the  camp  by  the  shore  with  the  ill  news  upon  his 
lips  and  an  arrow  in  his  shoulder. 

No  man  knew  better  than  La  Salle  the  evil 
results  that  would  surely  follow  such  relations 
with  the  Indians;  but  there  was  no  mending 
matters  now.  Ill  luck  blew  in  every  wind;  what 
with  keeping  constant  watch  upon  prowling 
Indians,  fighting  prairie  fires  that  threatened  to 
reach  the  provisions  and  gunpowder,  and  bury- 
ing along  the  sandy  shore  those  of  the  com- 
pany who  fell  sick  and  died,  the  colony  of  La 
Salle  was  making  wretched  progress. 

Leaving  a  hundred  and  thirty  of  the  com- 
pany in  charge  of  Joutel,  La  Salle  with  a  hand- 
ful of  men  went  off  to  explore.  He  came  back 
with  his  own  stubborn  mind  convinced  that  he 
was  not  so  near  the  Mississippi  as  he  had  sup- 
posed. Beyond  a  doubt  he  and  all  of  his  men 
were  lost. 

Beaujeu  and  a  part  of  the  company  had 
already  sailed  away;  they  were  returning  to 
France  to  tell  their  friends  that  La  Salle  was 
landed  on  the  shore  of  the  Gulf  amid  hostile 

235 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

Indians  and  with  no  certain  knowledge  of  where 
he  was.  As  a  matter  of  fact  La  Salle  had  passed 
the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  by  nearly  four 
hundred  miles  and  was  camped  on  the  shores  of 
what  is  now  Matagorda  Bay  in  Texas. 


XXVII 

HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

Somewhere  off  to  the  east  the  Mississippi 
River  was  running  down  through  the  Great 
Valley  to  the  sea;  and  La  Salle's  determination 
to  find  it  deepened  with  his  discouragements. 
But  first  they  must  make  the  location  near  the 
sea  habitable  as  a  supply  station  for  further 
exploration.  To  that  end  a  rude  fort  had  been 
erected  near  where  they  had  landed,  and  Joutel 
with  part  of  the  company  had  been  left  in 
charge  while  La  Salle  explored  the  neigh- 
borhood. Soon  he  came  upon  a  site  a  little 
farther  up  the  river  which  seemed  more  suit- 
able for  a  permanent  fort;  and  so  he  sent  back 
word  to  Joutel  to  square  timbers  ready  for  the 
new  building  and  join  him  later  at  this  upper 
location. 

In  these  widespread  sandy  plains  of  the 
Southland  there  was  no  high  rock  like  that  of 
Fort  St.  Louis  on  the  Illinois.  But  there  was  a 
rising  hill  near  the  river,  and  here  with  his  own 
hands  La  Salle  laid  the  outline  of  the  fort  and 

237 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

directed  its  construction.  The  new  fort  took 
rapid  shape;  and  La  Salle,  after  his  favorite 
saint,  called  it  Fort  St.  Louis,  and  he  named  the 
inlet  where  they  landed  the  Bay  of  St.  Louis. 

Out  of  squared  timbers  the  men  built  a  large 
dwelling  and  divided  it  into  apartments. 
Around  this  they  built  a  palisade,  and  set  up 
the  eight  precious  cannon.  It  was  a  pleasant 
location.  The  river  bathed  the  foot  of  the  hill 
on  the  north  and  northeast  and  ran  on  down  to 
the  bay.  Across  the  river  was  a  marshy  tract 
where  birds  innumerable  sang  in  their  season. 
To  the  west  and  southwest,  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  by  herds  of  shaggy  buffalo,  the  plains 
stretched  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach. 

Here  and  there  were  little  groups  of  trees, 
including  many  which  remained  green  the  whole 
year  through.  From  a  distance  these  bits  of 
foliage  gave  to  the  lonely  colonists  the  pleasing 
picture  of  the  groves  about  country  homes  in 
far-away  France.  In  their  imaginings  they 
seemed  to  see  the  country  peopled  by  white  set- 
tlers instead  of  the  Indians  who  prowled  about 
the  new  settlement  and  sometimes  fell  upon 
their  wandering  hunters. 

The  colony  had  grown  steadily  smaller: 
238 


HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

during  the  summer  more  than  thirty  had  died 
of  sickness;  some  had  been  killed  by  the 
Indians;  and  a  few  had  deserted.  Among  the 
sick  was  the  Abbe  Cavelier.  La  Salle,  con- 
sumed with  the  desire  to  hunt  for  his  lost  river, 
only  waited  for  his  brother  to  recover  suffi- 
ciently to  go  with  him.  By  fall  the  priest  was 
well,  the  fort  was  established,  and  La  Salle 
made  ready  to  go.  But  before  he  departed  he 
called  Joutel  aside  and  gave  him  charge  of  the 
colony,  with  careful  instructions  not  to  receive 
any  of  the  exploring  party  if  they  should  come 
back  unless  they  brought  a  letter  from  La  Salle 
himself  containing  the  password:  "In  the  name 
of  the  very  blessed  Trinity."  Then  as  Octo- 
ber of  1685  drew  to  a  close,  La  Salle,  with  his 
brother  and  a  goodly  number  of  men,  amid  the 
firing  of  cannon,  set  out  along  the  bay  with  all 
of  the  canoes  and  the  bark  La  Belle  to  seek 
what  they  might  find  to  the  eastward. 

Joutel,  who  had  been  left  with  thirty-four 
persons,  —  men,  women,  and  children,  —  kept 
them  all  busy.  Some  he  sent  out  as  hunters  and 
others  he  put  to  carrying  wood  and  completing 
their  dwellings  and  storehouses.  Now  and  then 
Indians  were  seen,  but  they  did  not  come  neai 

239 


THE  MAN   WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

the  fort.  For  their  better  protection  Joutel 
divided  the  night  into  watches  and  with  great 
care  posted  sentinels  —  a  duty  which  even  the 
women  shared.  Weeks  passed  and  the  new 
year  came  upon  them;  and  still  La  Salle  had 
not  returned. 

One  evening  in  the  middle  of  January  the 
men  and  women,  in  from  their  work,  were 
gathered  within  the  palisaded  house  on  the  hill, 
when  suddenly  the  sentinel  cried  out  to  them 
that  he  heard  a  voice  calling  from  the  river.  In 
great  haste  the  men  ran  out  of  the  house  and 
down  to  the  shore.  Out  on  the  water  they  could 
see  the  outlines  of  a  canoe  and  in  it  one  lone 
man,  who  called  out  at  the  twinkling  lights  of 
the  settlement,  "Dominick!" 

Dominick  was  the  younger  of  the  Duhaut 
brothers;  and  as  the  voyager  neared  the  shore 
the  men  from  the  fort  saw  that  he  was  the  elder 
Duhaut  who  had  set  out  with  La  Salle  nearly 
three  months  before.  Now  he  was  returning 
alone,  and  so  Joutel  questioned  him  closely. 
Had  he  a  letter  from  La  Salle?  No.  Joutel 
pondered.  "Let  no  one  come  back  to  the  fort 
unless  he  brings  a  letter  from  me  with  the  pass- 
word in  it,"  La  Salle  had  said  in  parting.  Should 

240 


HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

he  turn  Duhaut  away  again  into  the  wilderness, 
or  should  he  throw  him  into  irons  until  the 
return  of  the  leader?  It  was  a  puzzling  pre- 
dicament which  confronted  Joutel;  but  at 
least  he  might  listen  to  the  man's  story.  When 
Duhaut  had  finally  told  of  his  adventures, 
the  good-hearted  Joutel  saw  nothing  wrong 
in  taking  him  in  again  as  a  member  of  the 
garrison. 

La  Salle,  so  said  Duhaut,  had  coasted  along 
the  shore  with  canoes  and  the  Belle  for  many 
days.  Once  he  sent  out  a  party  of  six  to  recon- 
noiter  the  land.  They  did  not  return,  and  later 
a  search  party  found  their  dead  bodies  along 
the  shore  where  Indians  had  massacred  them. 
La  Salle  was  discouraged  but  not  completely 
disheartened.  Gathering  meat  on  shore  and 
drying  it  for  preservation,  he  loaded  it  with 
other  provisions  on  board  the  Belle,  and  ordered 
a  portion  of  his  men  to  stay  on  the  ship  and 
remain  out  in  the  bay  until  his  return.  Then 
with  twenty  men  he  went  ashore,  sunk  his 
canoes,  and  trailed  inland  —  still  hoping  to 
come  upon  the  Great  River. 

The  elder  Duhaut  was  one  of  this  exploring 
party,  as  was  also  Moranget,  who  had  orders 

241 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

from  La  Salle  to  bring  up  the  rear.  Now  it  so 
happened  that  Duhaut's  knapsack  and  shoes 
were  in  bad  condition  and  he  stopped  to  mend 
them.  Moranget,  coming  up,  urged  him  to 
move  on;  and  Duhaut  in  turn  asked  Moran- 
get to  wait  for  him.  Moranget,  however,  would 
not  stop,  but  passed  on  with  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany. Finally  when  Duhaut  looked  up  he  found 
no  one  in  sight.  With  hurried  steps  he  followed 
in  the  direction  his  companions  had  taken. 
When  night  fell  he  was  still  alone  in  a  plain  full 
of  weeds  and  buffalo  tracks,  but  with  no  sign  of 
men.  He  fired  his  gun,  but  nothing  save  the 
echo  answered  the  report.  At  last  he  lay  down 
under  the  open  sky  to  sleep. 

When  morning  came  Duhaut  rose  with  fresh 
hope  and  fired  again  several  times;  but  there 
was  no  answer.  He  was  lost.  All  that  day  and 
night  he  remained  near  the  same  spot,  hoping 
that  some  of  the  party  might  return  to  find  him. 
At  length,  when  no  one  came,  he  determined  to 
hunt  his  way  back  to  Fort  St.  Louis.  Leagues 
of  wilderness  lay  between  him  and  the  fort, 
and  he  well  knew  that  in  every  clump  of  trees 
might  lurk  hostile  Indians. 

Each  day  he  lay  in  fear  and  suspense,  hiding 
242 


HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

under  logs  and  underbrush;  and  by  night  he 
stumbled  on  toward  home.  His  provisions  gave 
out  and  he  must  kill  game  for  food  —  each  time 
with  difficulty  and  in  great  danger  of  discovery 
by  the  Indians.  Weeks  of  this  nightly  wander- 
ing passed  before  he  finally  reached  the  place 
where  La  Salle  had  sunk  the  canoes.  Labori- 
ously he  raised  one  of  the  boats  from  its  watery 
bed,  and  in  it  paddled  on  down  the  bay.  When 
the  wind  blew  he  hoisted  his  shirt  for  a  sail.  At 
last  he  reached  the  fort  after  he  had  been  a 
month  on  the  way,  miraculously  escaping  death 
from  Indian  foes  and  suffering  almost  incred- 
ible hardships.  Joutel  could  not  find  it  in  his 
heart  to  refuse  to  accept  the  man.  He  con- 
tented himself  with  watching  him  carefully  for 
a  few  days,  but  saw  nothing  to  arouse  suspicion 
or  displeasure. 

A  favorite  post  of  Joutel's  was  the  housetop, 
from  which  he  could  see  in  every  direction.  It 
was  from  this  lookout,  about  two  months  after 
Duhaut's  return,  that  he  saw,  far  off  across  the 
plains,  a  little  group  of  men.  Hurrying  down  he 
gathered  a  few  of  his  men,  put  them  under 
arms,  and  advanced  to  see  who  the  newcomers 
might  be.    They  were  La   Salle,  the  Abbe, 

243 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

Moranget,  and  five  or  six  others.  Their  clothes 
were  ragged  and  worn  beyond  description. 
Scarcely  a  hat  was  there  in  the  party  or  a  whole 
garment,  and  the  Abbe's  cassock  hung  upon 
him  in  tatters. 

La  Salle  had  sent  some  of  his  men  to  find  the 
Belle.  On  the  day  after  La  Salle's  return,  they, 
too,  came  to  the  fort  and  reported  that  they 
could  not  find  the  ship.  Later  it  was  learned 
that  the  bark  had  run  aground  and  the  crew  had 
been  forced  to  desert  it.  Thus  the  last  one  of  the 
ships  was  gone  and  with  it  the  hope  of  going  to 
the  West  Indies  for  aid. 

La  Salle  had  traveled  far,  but  he  had  found 
little  to  encourage  him  in  his  journeyings.  Yet 
like  a  will-o'-the-wisp  the  desire  to  find  the 
river  would  not  let  him  rest.  Hardly  a  month 
did  he  tarry  at  the  fort.  It  was  during  this 
month  that  Tonty  was  at  the  mouth  of  the 
Mississippi  hunting  with  heavy  heart  for  his 
lost  leader. 

By  the  end  of  April,  La  Salle  again  ventured 
forth  with  a  score  of  men,  this  time  on  foot. 
Again  the.  Abbe  and  Moranget  were  of  the 
party;  and  with  them  were  Dominick  Duhaut, 
a  German  buccaneer  named  Hiens,  a  surgeon, 

244 


HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

and  a  dozen  others  fitted  by  constitution  for 
hardship  and  danger. 

Once  more  Joutel  was  left  in  charge  of  the 
settlement  which  thrived  under  his  hand.  All 
about  the  house  he  planted  grain  and  vege- 
tables and  melons.  He  repaired  the  buildings, 
and  here  and  there  trained  climbing  vines. 
Father  Membre  kept  a  vegetable  garden  of 
his  own.  Game  being  fairly  plentiful,  Gabriel 
Barbier  was  sent  out  as  head  of  the  hunting- 
parties,  and  some  of  the  women  and  girls  went 
along  to  help  dress  the  game.  At  the  fort  there 
was  target  practice,  and  prizes  were  offered 
for  marksmanship.  Being  somewhat  limited 
in  ammunition,  Joutel  instructed  those  who 
dressed  the  game  on  the  hunt  to  search  for  the 
bullet;  and  often  the  same  ball  was  used  to 
bring  down  several  animals. 

Sometimes  the  hunters  had  encounters  with 
the  Indians  and  once  several  of  the  men  were 
wounded;  yet  withal  they  were  little  molested. 
When  in  the  house  at  night  the  company  kept 
in  good  cheer  with  music  and  dancing.  Thus 
the  summerof  1686  passed  comfortably  enough. 

Not  until  August  did  La  Salle  come  back ;  and 
when  he  did  come  it  was  with  only  a  fragment 

245 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

of  his  band.  A  part  of  his  men  had  become 
separated  from  the  rest  and  never  returned  — 
and  the  younger  Duhaut  was  one  of  the  lost. 
This  time  La  Salle  brought  back  with  him  five 
horses,  and  reported  that  he  had  traveled  to  the 
northeast  as  far  as  the  villages  of  the  Cenis 
Indians.  But  he  had  not  found  the  Mississippi 
River. 

The  undaunted  leader  now  made  plans  to 
gather  a  party  which,  with  provisions  and  sup- 
plies loaded  on  the  five  horses  he  had  bought, 
would  make  for  Fort  St.  Louis,  on  the  Illinois 
River,  where  Tonty  and  his  men  were  waiting, 
and  thence  go  on  to  Canada  and  France  to  bring 
aid  and  supplies  to  the  colony  on  the  Gulf.  He 
asked  Joutel  to  join  the  party,  while  Gabriel 
Barbier  was  put  in  charge  of  the  fort  and  the 
men  and  women  who  remained  there. 

He  was  a  man  with  a  story  —  this  Gabriel 
Barbier.  About  eight  years  before,  while  in  the 
service  of  La  Salle,  he  had  been  persuaded  by 
other  men  to  desert  with  them.  La  Salle  went 
on  out  to  the  Illinois  country,  built  Fort 
Crevecceur,  and  in  the  spring  of  1680  went  back 
to  Canada  for  supplies.  That  summer  Barbier 
came  to  him  begging  to  be  taken  back,  and  La 

246 


HUNTING  THE  MISSISSIPPI 

Salle  consented.  He  had  gone  down  the  Great 
River  with  his  leader  in  1682  and  had  been  a 
valuable  member  of  the  party;  and  now,  after 
being  further  tried  by  the  experiences  of  the 
expedition  to  the  Gulf,  he  was  placed  by  his 
leader  in  a  position  of  trust  and  power. 


XXVIII 

FROM  THE   GULF  TO  THE    ILLINOIS 

There  were  seventeen  men  who  set  out  on 
foot,  early  in  January,  1687,  to  travel  from 
Fort  St.  Louis  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  to  the, 
other  Fort  St.  Louis  on  the  Illinois  River  —  a 
journey  of  over  a  thousand  miles.  They  knew 
no  trails  which  they  could  follow,  nor  were 
there  bridges  on  which  to  cross  the  rivers;  and 
to  a  large  extent  they  must  gather  their  food 
as  they  went.  They  must  sleep  where  night 
found  them;  and  they  must  trust  the  Indians 
whose  country  they  were  crossing  to  treat  them 
as  friends  and  give  them  guidance  upon  the 
way,  for  as  far  as  they  knew  there  was  no  white 
man  in  all  the  distance  between  the  two  forts. 
Yet  forth  they  went  bravely  —  La  Salle  and  his 
brother  and  two  nephews  (Moranget  and  the 
young  Cavelier),  Joutel,  and  Father  Douay, 
Duhaut  the  elder  and  his  man  L'Archeveque, 
whom  he  had  picked  up  at  the  isle  of  Santo 
Domingo,  Liotot  the  surgeon  and  Hiens  the 
buccaneer,  a  young  boy  named  Pierre  Talon 

248 


FROM  THE  GULF  TO  THE  ILLINOIS 

whom  La  Salle  planned  to  leave  at  the  Cenis 
village  to  learn  their  language,  and  a  half- 
dozen  others. 

Father  Membre,  full  of  grief,  remained  with 
Barbier  and  the  party  at  the  fort  and  saw  the 
slender  band  of  explorers  start  off  across  the 
plains,  their  five  horses  loaded  with  supplies 
for  a  long  and  arduous  journey.  It  being  win- 
ter in  the  Southland,  rains  came  upon  them 
frequently  and  swamps  and  swollen  streams 
blocked  their  way.  Sometimes  for  days  they 
walked  drearily  along  the  wet  banks  of  rivers, 
looking  for  a  place  to  ford.  Occasionally  they 
used  logs  to  cross  upon,  but  finally  they  found 
the  streams  so  wide  that  they  stopped  and  made 
portable  boats  out  of  buffalo  hides. 

There  was  no  lack  of  game;  and  the  broad 
paths  of  the  buffalo  often  served  as  trails.  Time 
and  again  the  party  came  across  Indians,  with 
whom  La  Salle  almost  invariably  made  friends. 
Sometimes  he  visited  their  hunting-camps  and 
smoked  with  them  the  pipe  of  peace.  At  other 
times  he  called  them  into  his  own  camp  to 
smoke  and  eat,  and  then  sent  them  away  happy 
with  presents.  They  came  upon  Indian  villages 
with  round  huts  like  French  ovens,  and  stopped 

249 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

to  trade  beads  and  hatchets  for  a  horse  or  provi- 
sions or  deer-hide  for  fresh  moccasins,  listening 
meantime  to  the  tales  of  Indian  wars  or  of  the 
Spaniards  from  whom  their  horses  first  came. 
They  crossed  the  rivers  now  known  as  the 
Colorado  and  the  Brazos  and  drew  near  to  the 
Trinity  River. 

Many  were  the  adventures  which  Joutel  and 
the  Abbe  related  to  Tonty  at  Fort  St.  Louis  on 
the  Illinois.  Before  they  reached  the  Cenis  vil- 
lage, they  said,  La  Salle  separated  from  them, 
but  intended  to  follow  them  soon.  He  was  in 
good  health  when  he  left  them.  Without  their 
leader  they  had  pushed  on  to  the  village  of  the 
Cenis,  and  from  there  they  went  with  guides  to 
the  Arkansas  towns. 

It  was  the  24th  of  July,  1687,  three  years  to  a 
day  since  they  had  sailed  out  of  the  harbor  of 
Rochelle,  when  they  came  at  last  to  a  village 
on  the  shore  of  the  Arkansas  and  saw  on  the 
river  bank  a  house  built  like  the  houses  of 
Frenchmen  and  the  blessed  cross  rising  straight 
to  the  sky.  Out  of  the  house  on  the  shore  came 
running  two  white  men  to  welcome  them. 
They  were  Jean  Couture  and  De  Launay,  two 
of  the  men  whom  Tonty  had  left  there  on  his 

250 


FROM  THE  GULF  TO  THE  ILLINOIS 

return  from  his  trip  to  the  mouth  of  the  Missis- 
sippi the  year  before.  At  the  village  the  Arkan- 
sas danced  the  calumet  dance  before  the  Abbe. 
Later  Couture  accompanied  the  five  men  as  far 
as  the  village  of  the  Kappas,  from  which  place, 
with  Arkansas  guides  and  an  Indian  canoe,  they 
had  come  up  the  Mississippi  and  the  Illinois 
and  reached  Fort  St.  Louis  in  the  month  of 
September. 

Such  in  brief  was  the  tale  that  the  two  men 
—  brother  and  companion  of  La  Salle  —  told 
to  Tonty  on  the  high  rock  of  Fort  St.  Louis. 
The  Man  with  the  Iron  Hand  listened  to  each 
word  with  intense  feeling.  Nearly  ten  years 
before  he  had  cast  his  lot  with  La  Salle.  With 
him  and  for  him  he  had  literally  hungered  and 
suffered  and  bled.  He  had  given  what  he  had 
of  worldly  goods,  and  his  time,  his  strength,  his 
whole  self  he  had  thrown  into  the  balance  to 
uphold  the  plans  of  his  chief.  He  knew  him  as 
few  men  did  —  he  knew  his  faults  as  well  as  his 
great  abilities  —  and  he  loved  him.  Often  he 
had  remonstrated  with  him  over  some  actions 
or  methods  that  lost  him  favor  with  his  men; 
but  he  also  saw  the  breadth  and  power  of  his 
leader's  vision. 

251 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

Time  and  again  he  had  thought  his  friend 
lost  and  dead  —  as  he  had  been  told  so  stoutly 
in  the  days  long  before  when  he  lived  almost 
alone  in  the  Kaskaskia  village.  In  despair  he 
had  hunted  the  Great  River  to  its  mouth  — 
little  dreaming,  when  he  gave  the  letter  into  the 
hands  of  the  Quinipissa  chief,  that  La  Salle  was 
in  the  wilderness  more  than  a  hundred  leagues 
to  the  west. 

But  now  had  come  news  that  La  Salle  was 
alive  and  in  good  health  and  perhaps  coming 
fast  upon  the  heels  of  his  men  to  the  citadel  on 
the  high  rock  where  Tonty  and  Boisrondet  and 
other  faithful  comrades  had  waited  and  dreamed 
of  his  coming  for  four  long  years.  Yes,  he  was 
on  his  way  to  the  Illinois  country  whose  In- 
dians never  forgot  him,  but  loved  him  as  one 
of  their  own  great  chiefs.  He  was  coming  back 
to  the  Kaskaskias  whose  home  he  had  restored, 
to  the  Shawnees  whom  he  had  gathered  at  the 
foot  of  his  great  fort,  to  the  Miamis  whose  chief 
he  had  raised  from  the  dead  in  his  own  per- 
son. It  was  like  the  coming  back  from  the 
dead  to  Tonty,  too,  after  these  years  of  de- 
spair. And  so,  in  his  joy,  he  paid  little  heed  to 
the  quiet  friar  in  the  gray  robe  or  the  mariner 

252 


FROM  THE  GULF  TO  THE  ILLINOIS 

Teissier,  who  moved  so  silently  among  the 
buildings  of  the  fort. 

The  entire  colony  on  the  Illinois  River  — 
Indian  villages  and  French  garrison  alike  — 
buzzed  with  excitement  that  winter.  Nothing 
was  too  good  for  the  men  of  La  Salle's  party. 
Around  the  fires  in  the  quarters  of  the  French, 
men  gathered  to  sing  songs  and  tell  stories  of 
adventure  and  battle  and  strange  countries, 
and  to  talk  of  him  who  was  coming. 

Especially  among  the  Indian  lodges  was 
there  great  good  cheer,  for  the  white  father  was 
alive  and  on  his  way  back  to  their  villages  and 
camp-fires.  There  was  joy,  too,  among  the 
tribes  over  the  raids  the  Illinois  were  making. 
It  seemed  as  though  the  Iroquois  scourge  was 
being  driven  out  of  the  valley  for  good,  as  band 
after  band  of  Illinois  left  the  lodges  to  the 
women  and  old  men  and  struck  out  upon  the 
trail  of  the  Iroquois.  Scalps  they  brought  home 
and  captives,  and  many  were  the  burnings 
by  which  they  paid  interest  upon  their  debt 
of  vengeance.  With  Tonty  in  New  York  they 
had  laid  waste  the  Iroquois  fields,  and  now  their 
good  fortune  still  continued.  So  white  men  and 
red  together  were  glad. 

253 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON  HAND 

The  five  men  who  had  come  to  the  fort  in 
September  were  anxious  to  get  on  with  their 
journey,  and  Tonty  promised  them  all  the  aid 
in  his  power  as  soon  as  the  spring  should  make 
travel  possible.  But  with  all  their  hurry,  there 
was  one  who  seemed  even  more  full  of  anxiety. 
The  priest  Allouez,  who  had  recovered  from  his 
sickness,  did  not  lose  his  apparent  dread  of  the 
approach  of  La  Salle.  Spring,  coming  on  apace, 
increased  his  scarcely  concealed  restlessness; 
and  when  in  March  the  way  became  somewhat 
open,  the  black-robed  Jesuit  was  the  first  to  slip 
out  of  the  fort  and  up  the  valley  to  his  friends 
on  the  Lake. 

Then  the  Abbe  with  his  four  companions 
made  ready  to  go.  But  they  must  have  means 
to  buy  food  and  transportation  on  their  way  to 
Canada  and  France.  So  the  Abbe  showed  to 
Tonty  a  letter  from  La  Salle,  asking  Tonty 
to  furnish  his  brother,  the  Abbe,  with  money  or 
furs.  Tonty,  with  the  greatest  content,  sup- 
plied them  with  what  they  needed  for  the  jour- 
ney, and  late  in  March  the  five  men  of  La  Salle's 
party,  with  guides  to  accompany  them,  left  the 
high  rock  on  their  long  homeward  journey. 

After  bidding  the  five  men  farewell,  Tonty 
254 


FROM  THE  GULF  TO  THE  ILLINOIS 

turned  his  attention  to  the  fort  which  must  be 
put  in  readiness  for  the  coming  of  the  master. 
Month  after  month  passed  and  he  hoped  each 
day  to  see  a  canoe  or  canoes  cutting  the  water 
of  the  Illinois  far  downstream.  Summer  went 
by  and  no  La  Salle.  September  came  without 
bringing  the  leader.  La  Salle  was  now  a  year 
behind  his  advance  party.  But  one  day  there 
did  appear  a  canoe  on  the  stream  below  the 
fort,  and  in  it  were  a  Frenchman  and  two 
Indians.  Tonty  full  of  excitement  made  haste 
to  welcome  them.  It  was  not  La  Salle :  it  was 
Tonty's  man  Couture  from  the  Arkansas  post. 
But  surely  he  came  with  news  from  La  Salle; 
and  so  quick  questions  leaped  at  Couture  al- 
most before  he  was  in  sound  of  Tonty's  voice. 


XXIX 

WHEN   HE   LEFT  THEM 

Couture  did,  indeed,  bring  news  concerning 
La  Salle.  Within  the  palisaded  walls  that 
crowned  the  rock  of  Fort  St.  Louis,  the  Man 
with  the  Iron  Hand  now  listened  to  a  story  that 
hardened  his  soul  with  anger  and  despair.  The 
Abbe  and  Joutel  had  told  him  much,  but  they 
had  not  told  him  all.  From  what  Couture  said 
it  became  evident  that  when  the  Abbe  and  his 
party  reached  the  post  on  the  Arkansas,  they 
had  told  some  things  which  they  did  not  after- 
wards relate  at  Fort  St.  Louis.  Thus  through 
Couture's  account,  pieced  out  by  other  details 
learned  later,  Tonty  came  to  know  the  real 
heart  of  the  story  which  the  Abbe  and  Joutel 
had  only  told  in  half. 

The  thread  of  the  hidden  tale  ran  back  to 
the  beginning  of  the  voyage  from  France.  On 
the  way  across  the  sea  there  was  a  growing  dis- 
content among  the  men,  which  ripened  into 
intrigue  when  they  landed.  While  Joutel  with 
part  of  the  colony  was  guarding  the  supplies  on 

256 


WHEN   HE  LEFT   THEM 

the  shore  and  squaring  timbers  to  be  used  in  the 
fort  upstream,  a  confession  by  one  of  the  men 
enabled  him  to  foil  a  conspiracy  to  kill  Le 
Gros,  who  guarded  the  storehouse,  and  himself 
steal  arms  and  supplies  from  the  storehouse  and 
desert  to  the  wilds.  Joutel  turned  the  men  over 
to  La  Salle,  but  the  incident  did  not  make  suf- 
ficient impression  upon  his  own  unsuspicious 
nature.  When  some  months  later  Duhaut  came 
back  alone  from  La  Salle's  first  expedition, 
Joutel  contented  himself  with  watching  him 
narrowly  for  a  few  days.  When  La  Salle  set  out 
on  his  second  expedition,  Duhaut  remained  be- 
hind with  the  men  at  the  fort. 

As  the  weeks  of  La  Salle's  absence  length- 
ened into  months,  discontent  spread  among  the 
members  of  the  colony  at  the  fort.  Probably 
La  Salle  was  lost;  at  all  events,  it  did  not  look 
as  if  he  were  coming  back.  Little  knots  of  men 
drew  of!  together  to  talk  of  their  wrongs.  Why 
not  desert  La  Salle  and  take  matters  into  their 
own  hands?  Duhaut  passed  among  the  discon- 
tented with  words  of  encouragement :  under  his 
management  things  would  be  different.  Having 
staked  considerable  wealth  in  the  enterprise  of 
La  Salle's  colony,  Duhaut  had  grumbled  much 

257 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

at  the  ill  fortune  that  had  come  upon  them;  but 
in  spite  of  all  the  losses  of  the  colony  he  had 
managed  to  keep  a  large  supply  of  goods,  — 
knives,  hatchets,  cloth  for  garments  and  for  In- 
dian trade,  —  and  these  and  many  other  pos- 
sessions he  now  promised  to  divide  among  those 
who  would  follow  him. 

Joutel,  learning  of  the  mutterings  of  the  men 
and  the  intrigues  of  Duhaut,  called  the  con- 
spirator before  him  with  sharp  words.  Later  he 
felt  that  he  would  have  done  better  service  to 
La  Salle  if  he  had  put  Duhaut  to  death  upon 
the  spot.  After  talking  with  the  men  and  quiet- 
ing their  discontent,  he  tried  to  prevent  further 
trouble  by  keeping  them  busily  at  work  about 
the  fort.  It  was  not  long  after  this  incident  that 
La  Salle  came  back  from  his  search  for  the  lost 
river. 

The  party  which  journeyed  forth  upon  the 
final  expedition  in  January  of  1687  was  not 
large,  but  it  was  one  which  held  great  possibili- 
ties for  trouble.  There  were  stanch  friends  of 
La  Salle  in  the  party —  among  them  his  hot- 
headed nephew  Moranget.  But  Duhaut  also 
was  there  with  his  devoted  tool  L'Archeveque 
and  his  friend  Liotot  the  surgeon  —  a  man  who, 

258 


WHEN   HE  LEFT   THEM 

like  Duhaut,  had  money  invested  in  the  colonial 
venture  and  was  sorely  put  out  at  the  progress 
of  affairs. 

For  more  than  two  months  the  seventeen 
men  traveled  together  across  the  prairies  until, 
about  the  middle  of  March,  they  drew  near  to  a 
place  where  La  Salle  on  his  former  trip  to  the 
Cenis  villages  had  hidden  some  supplies. 

They  halted  and  La  Salle  sent  out  a  party  of 
men  to  bring  the  food  into  camp.  It  was  on  the 
fifteenth  of  the  month  that  this  party  of  seven 
set  out  —  Duhaut  and  L'Archeveque,  Liptot 
and  Hiens  the  buccaneer,  Teissier,  a  servant  of 
La  Salle's  named  Saget,  and  Nika,  a  faithful 
Shawnee  who  had  crossed  the  ocean  twice  with 
La  Salle  and  served  him  with  undying  devotion. 
They  did  not  have  far  to  go;  but  they  found  the 
food  spoiled  and  unfit  for  use. 

On  the  way  back  the  keen-eyed  Shawnee  saw 
two  buffaloes,  and,  slipping  along  after  them, 
killed  them  both.  The  men  halted  where  they 
were  and  sent  Saget  back  to  camp  to  tell  La 
Salle  that  if  he  would  send  horses  they  would 
bring  the  meat  home.  No  one  having  returned 
by  nightfall  the  six  men  slept  upon  the  ground. 
The  next  day  they  cut  up  the  buffaloes  and 

259 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

placed  the  meat  upon  scaffolds  to  dry.  Then, 
as  was  the  custom  of  hunters,  they  laid  aside 
the  marrow  bones  and  some  other  portions  for 
their  own  use. 

Saget  returned  from  the  camp  with  three  men 
—  Moranget,  De  Marie,  and  Meusnier  —  and 
with  horses  on  which  to  pack  the  meat.  Now 
Moranget,  the  nephew  of  La  Salle,  was  not  a 
favorite  with  the  men  to  whom  he  came  this 
day.  When  he  had  been  ill  for  weeks  on  the 
shore  of  the  bay  from  the  arrow  which  rash  ad- 
venture had  lodged  in  his  shoulder,  Liotot  the 
surgeon  had  cared  for  him  with  a  patiencewhich 
no  man  of  the  colony  forgot;  but  when  he  was 
well  again  his  surly  temper  vented  itself  upon 
even  the  doctor  who  had  tended  him.  None  the 
less  did  Duhaut  dislike  him,  for  he  felt  that  his 
long  month  of  hardship  when  lost  in  the  wilds 
would  not  have  come  upon  him  if  Moranget  had 
been  more  patient  in  waiting  for  him. 

No  March  wind  was  ever  more  blustering 
than  this  young  man  as  he  rode  into  the  little 
camp  and  saw  the  meat  drying  on  the  scaffolds 
and  the  men  guarding  the  marrow  bones  and 
other  bits  for  themselves.  In  an  unreasoning 
fury  he  seized,  not  only  the  drying  meat,  but 

260 


WHEN   HE  LEFT   THEM 

the  men's  own  portion.  He  would  take  care  of 
the  meat  thereafter,  he  said,  and  not  let  them 
eat  it  up  as  they  had  in  the  past. 

His  words  fell  upon  the  hatred  of  these  fierce 
men  like  a  match  tossed  into  gunpowder.  The 
five  drew  apart  and  held  council.  Too  long  had 
they  borne  with  this  young  upstart.  Night  fell, 
but  the  conspirators  did  not  sleep.  Liotot  rose 
quietly,  while  Moranget,  Nika,  and  Saget  were 
fast  asleep.  Hatchet  in  hand  the  surgeon  stole 
over  beside  them  and  with  a  single  blow  split 
open  the  head  of  the  hated  Moranget.  Nika 
and  Saget  he  treated  in  the  same  fashion. 

Meanwhile  the  other  conspirators  crouched 
with  guns  in  hand  ready  to  shoot  if  any  one 
made  resistance.  Moranget  was  the  only  one  to 
stir.  Half  sitting  up  he  gasped  and  tried  to 
speak.  Then  the  murderers,  to  implicate  the 
innocent  De  Marie,  who  had  accompanied 
Moranget,  forced  him  upon  pain  of  death  to 
finish  the  killing  of  his  friend. 

Murder  had  lifted  its  horrid  head  at  last  in 
the  voyage  that  had  known  almost  every  other 
disaster.  Could  it  stop  there?  The  men  took 
counsel  together.  What  would  be  their  chance 
of  life  when  the  news  reached  their  leader? 

261 


THE  MAN   WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

Their  only  safety  now  lay  in  going  at  once  to 
the  camp  and  killing  both  La  Salle  and  Joutel. 
They  started,  but  the  river,  swollen  by  a  heavy 
rain,  made  them  pause  to  construct  a  raft  to 
transport  their  meat.  While  thus  delayed  they 
suddenly  heard  a  gun  fired  as  if  in  signal. 
Duhaut  and  his  man  L'Archeveque  quickly 
crossed  the  river  and  a  moment  later  they  saw 
La  Salle  in  the  distance  coming  to  seek  them. 
Duhaut  dropped  quietly  in  the  weeds  to  await 
his  approach.  La  Salle,  accompanied  by  the 
Recollet  Douay,  drew  nearer,  caught  sight  of 
L'Archeveque,  and  called  out  to  him  to  know 
where  Moranget  was.  Without  removing  his 
hat  or  otherwise  saluting  his  astonished  chief, 
L'Archeveque  answered  in  an  indifferent  tone 
that  he  was  along  the  river  somewhere.  La 
Salle  started  toward  him  with  a  rebuke. 
L'Archeveque  answered  with  still  more  inso- 
lence. Then  the  crack  of  a  gun  came  from  the 
tall  grass  where  Duhaut  was  hiding  and  La 
Salle,  shot  in  the  head,  fell  upon  the  ground. 
Without  a  word  he  died. 

Douay,  speechless,  stood  still  in  his  tracks. 
The  others  came  running  up,  Liotot  in  scornful 
exultation  crying  out  over  the  body  of  La  Salle : 

262 


WHEN   HE  LEFT  THEM 

"There  thou  Hest!  Great  Bashaw!  There  thou 
liest!" 

Hiens,  rough  man  that  he  was,  perhaps  al- 
ready felt  remorse  —  for  La  Salle  had  been 
good  to  him.  Teissier  the  mariner,  who  had 
neither  joined  in  the  plot  nor  tried  to  prevent 
it,  looked  on  while  the  men  stripped  the  fallen 
leader  and  dragged  his  dead  body  into  the 
bushes. 

There  they  left  him,  their  leader,  a  prey 
to  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the  wolves  of  the 
plains,  unburied  in  the  far  corner  of  the  Great 
Valley  of  whose  waters  and  prairies  and  people 
he  would  never  dream  again. 


XXX 

WHITE   AND   RED   SAVAGES 

At  the  main  camp  on  that  fatal  19th  of 
March,  LaSalle  had  left  Joutel  with  four  oth- 
ers —  the  Abbe,  young  Cavelier,  Pierre  Talon, 
and  another  young  boy  called  Barthelemy. 
From  time  to  time  during  the  day  Joutel  had 
lighted  fires  on  rising  ground  near  the  camp  so 
that  La  Salle,  if  he  lost  his  way,  could  return 
easily.  He  was  alone  on  one  of  these  little  hills 
toward  evening,  looking  down  upon  the  horses 
grazing  in  the  field  near  by,  when  some  one 
came  running  up  to  him  in  great  excitement. 
It  was  L'Archeveque,  a  man  who  had  always 
been  kindly  disposed  toward  Joutel.  There  was 
very  bad  news  to  tell,  he  said,  confused  and 
almost  beside  himself. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Joutel  in  quick  alarm. 

"La  Salle  is  dead,"  he  replied,  "and  also 
Moranget,  his  nephew,  and  two  others."  He 
added  that  they  had  been  murdered  and  that 
the  assassins  had  sworn  to  come  on  and  kill 
Joutel  as  well. 

264 


WHITE  AND  RED  SAVAGES 

Joutel  stood  dazed,  scarcely  knowing  what  to 
say  or  do.  Should  he  fly  to  the  woods  and  trust 
to  Providence  to  guide  him  to  civilization? 
Having  come  away  from  camp  without  his  gun, 
life  was  scarcely  more  secure  in  the  wilds  than 
in  the  camp  with  the  murderers.  But,  added 
L'Archeveque,  the  conspirators  had  decided  on 
the  way  home  not  to  kill  Joutel  unless  he  of- 
fered resistance.  After  all,  perhaps  it  was  bet- 
ter to  risk  death  in  the  company  of  white  men 
than  in  the  wilderness  alone;  and  so  the  two 
men  turned  back  to  the  camp. 

There  they  found  the  Abbe  Cavelier  in  a 
corner  praying,  and  Father  Douay  still  over- 
whelmed and  not  daring  to  speak  to  Joutel  for 
fear  of  the  murderers.  The  murderers  had  come 
wildly  into  camp  and  had  seized  the  belongings 
of  La  Salle.  Duhaut  had  assumed  the  place  of 
leader. 

"You  may  kill  me  if  you  wish,"  said  the 
Abbe,  "but  give  me  a  half-hour  to  prepare  for 
the  end." 

But  the  white  savages  had  had  enough  of  kill- 
ing. If  all  would  yield  to  the  new  leaders  they 
might  keep  their  lives.  There  was  nothing  else 
to  do.    Those  who  were  not  in  the  plot  stood 

265 


THE   MAN  WITH   THE   IRON   HAND 

guard  that  night;  and  in  the  long  hours  Joutel 
and  the  Abbe,  young  Cavelier  and  Douay, 
made  a  solemn  agreement  to  stand  by  each 
other  until  death  —  which  now  seemed  very 
near  to  them. 

The  next  morning,  under  Duhaut's  direction, 
the  forlorn  band  of  thirteen  packed  up  their 
camp  supplies  and  continued  their  journey 
toward  the  Cenis  village.  A  common  tie  —  the 
need  of  escape  from  the  wilderness  —  held  them 
together.  Yet  even  that  tie  was  honeycombed 
with  fears  and  hates  and  distrusts.  Joutel,  his 
soul  rising  in  rebellion,  wanted  to  kill  the  mur- 
derers in  their  sleep,  but  the  Abbe  dissuaded 
him. 

With  the  guidance  of  Indians  they  soon 
crossed  the  Trinity  River,  and  as  they  drew 
near  to  the  town  of  the  Cenis,  four  of  the  num- 
ber—  Joutel,  Liotot,  Hiens,  and  Teissier  — 
were  sent  in  advance  to  buy  food.  They  camped 
at  night  outside  the  village;  and  the  next  morn- 
ing they  were  met  and  escorted  into  the  town 
by  chiefs  and  elders  dressed  in  great  pomp  with 
painted  goatskins  over  their  shoulders,  crowns 
of  feathers  on  their  heads,  and  streaks  of  black 
and  red  paint  on  their  faces. 

266 


WHITE  AND  RED  SAVAGES 

The  Cenis  lived  in  round  huts,  shaped  like 
old-fashioned  beehives  and  made  of  a  circle  of 
poles  bent  over  and  lashed  together  at  the  top. 
The  poles  were  interlaced  with  willow  rods,  and 
covered  over  with  a  thick  thatch  of  grass.  In 
the  middle  of  the  floor  the  Indians  built  their 
lodge-fire,  which  the  several  families  living  in 
the  hut  used  in  common. 

Joutel's  three  companions  soon  left  him  to 
trade  with  the  villagers  while  they  went  back 
to  camp.  Alone  in  the  village  of  people  whom 
his  experiences  on  the  shores  of  the  Gulf  had 
taught  him  to  fear,  Joutel  drove  his  little  bar- 
gains and  listened  and  nodded  his  head  to  the 
chiefs  as  they  told  him  of  the  war  they  were 
getting  ready  to  make  upon  their  enemies. 

Fearful  lest  they  should  steal  his  merchan- 
dise, Joutel  did  not  sleep  well  one  night.  He 
was  tossing  upon  his  robes  about  one  o'clock 
when  he  heard  some  one  move  near  him.  Look- 
ing up,  he  saw,  by  the  light  of  the  fire  in  the 
center  of  the  lodge,  a  man  who  was  naked  ex- 
cept for  the  tattoo  marks  upon  his  body.  This 
stranger  came  and  sat  down  by  him,  without 
saying  a  word.  In  his  hands  were  a  bow  and  two 
arrows.   Joutel  watched  him  a  moment,  then 

267 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON   HAND 

spoke.  The  man  did  not  answer.  Joutel  reached 
for  his  pistol;  whereupon  the  man  rose,  walked 
over  to  the  fire,  and  again  sat  down. 

Utterly  puzzled,  Joutel  rose  from  his  bed  and 
followed  the  man,  studying  him  intently  all 
the  while.  The  man  returned  his  gaze,  then 
threw  his  arms  about  Joutel,  embraced  him, 
and  spoke  to  him  with  French  words.  He  was 
Ruter,one  of  La  Salle's  sailors  who  had  deserted 
him,  two  years  before,  for  the  woods  and  the 
wild  life  of  the  Indian  camps.  Another  deserter, 
Grollet,  had  been  afraid  to  come  with  him  to 
the  grass  house  where  Joutel  slept,  for  fear 
of  La  Salle. 

For  two  years  these  white  men  had  lived  like 
the  red  men,  they  had  married  Indian  women, 
and  they  had  fought  in  the  Indian  wars.  There 
was  little  now  to  distinguish  Ruter  from  his 
dusky  companions  —  except  that  long-buried 
yearning  for  his  own  people  which  made  him 
come  to  Joutel  and  listen  eagerly  to  his  tale  of 
adventures.  -  The  story  of  La  Salle's  death 
seemed  to  affect  him  deeply,  and  for  a  long  time 
in  the  passing  night  the  two  men  talked  be- 
side the  fire  in  the  Indian  lodge.  Later,  Grol- 
let also  came  to  see  and  talk  to  Joutel. 

268 


'WHITE  AND  RED   SAVAGES 

For  several  days  Joutel  stayed  in  the  village. 
Then  messengers  came  from  the  camp  to  say 
that  tie  leaders  had  decided  to  return  to  the 
fort  on  the  Bay  of  St.  Louis  and  there  build  a 
ship  and  sail  for  the  West  Indies.  With  what 
provisions  he  had  secured,  Joutel  went  back 
to  the  camp  of  the  murderers,  where  he  and 
the  Abbe  took  counsel  together.  It  was  intoler- 
able to  continue  life  in  the  same  camp  with 
those  who  had  killed  La  Salle,  and  so  they  made 
up  their  minds  to  leave  their  murderous  com- 
panions and  go  on  with  those  who  had  not  been 
in  the  plot,  toward  the  Mississippi  River.  They 
told  Duhaut  they  were  too  fatigued  to  make 
the  trip  back  to  the  Gulf,  and  would  remain 
with  the  Cenis,to  which  Duhaut  finally  agreed. 

Hiens  and  several  others,  who  had  been  sent 
to  the  village  for  horses  on  which  to  carry  sup- 
plies back  to  the  fort,  had  not  yet  returned. 
While  they  were  waiting,  one  of  the  French  de- 
serters, who  knew  of  the  true  plans  of  the  Abbe 
and  Joutel,  told  them  to  Duhaut  and  added  that 
he  believed  the  Mississippi  to  be  not  far  off  to 
the  northeast;  whereupon  Duhaut  changed  his 
plan  and  decided  that  he  too  would  go  to  the 
Mississippi. 

269 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  H/ND 

News  of  Duhaut's  decision  soon  reached 
Hiens  at  the  Cenis  village,  and  in  a  few  days  he 
came  back  to  the  camp,  accompanied  by  Ruter 
and  others.  Hiens  walked  directly  to  Duhaut 
and  declared  that  it  was  not  safe  to  go  to  the 
Mississippi  and  on  to  the  white  settlements. 
As  for  himself,  he  would  not  go,  and  he  de- 
manded his  share  of  the  goods.  When  Duhaut 
refused,  Hiens  raised  his  gun  and  fired,  saying, 
"You  wretch!  You  murdered  my  master!" 
Duhaut  fell  dead.  Almost  at  the  same  instant 
Ruter,  the  half-savage  deserter,  opened  fire 
upon  Liotot  and  mortally  wounded  him.  Thus 
did  the  murderers  of  La  Salle  and  Moranget 
-come  to  their  end. 

Hiens  was  now  in  command  of  the  party, 
which  had  decreased  to  eleven.  The  old  buc- 
caneer had  promised  the  Cenis  to  go  to  their 
wars  with  them  and,  with  Ruter  and  Grollet 
and  three  or  four  other  Frenchmen,  started  out 
with  the  exultant  Indian  warriors,  leaving  the 
Abbe  and  his  party  in  the  village  with  the 
women  and  old  men.  Late  in  May  the  warriors 
returned,  flushed  with  a  great  victory  which  the 
guns  of  the  white  allies  had  enabled  them  to 
win. 

270 


WHITE  AND  RED  SAVAGES 

The  Abbe  and  Joutel  and  their  little  group 
now  asked  leave  to  separate  and  try  to  make 
their  way  across  to  the  Mississippi.  Hiens  gave 
his  consent  with  much  reluctance.  As  for  him- 
self he  did  not  care  to  risk  his  life  going  back  to 
civilized  people;  and  the  wild  savage  life  in  the 
Indian  villages  held  him  with  a  strong  fascina- 
tion. He  divided  supplies  and  merchandise  with 
those  who  were  leaving,  gave  them  six  horses 
to  carry  their  goods,  and  with  much  advice  set 
them  on  their  way.  Thus  they  took  their  de- 
parture —  a  band  of  seven  —  to  make  the  last 
long  march  toward  the  settlements  of  white 
men.  Hiens  and  L'Archeveque,  Meusnier,  and 
Pierre  Talon  cast  in  their  lot  with  the  Indians. 

Innumerable  were  the  adventures  of  the 
seven  travelers.  Town  after  town  they  passed, 
stopping  often  to  smoke  the  pipe  of  peace,  trade 
merchandise,  and  gather  news  of  the  way.  One 
morning  De  Marie,  while  bathing  in  the  river 
near  an  Indian  village,  was  drowned  before  the 
Indians  could  rescue  him.  The  six  moved  on, 
Indian  guides  leading  them,  until  at  last  with  a 
great  feeling  of  joy  they  came  to  the  establish- 
ment of  Couture  on  the  Arkansas. 

271 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

Couture  was  the  last  man  in  America  to 
whom  they  related  the  story  of  La  Salle's  death. 
The  Abbe  decided  to  keep  it  a  secret  from  both 
the  Indians  and  from  Tonty,  and  not  even  to 
tell  it  in  Canada,  but  to  take  the  news  across 
the  seas  with  them  to  the  court  of  France. 
Dreading  that  young  Barthelemy  would  dis- 
close their  secret,  they  left  him  with  Couture. 
The  young  boy  told  many  things  to  the  men  at 
the  Arkansas  post.  And  now  Couture  was  pour- 
ing out  the  whole  tale  to  the  commander  of 
Fort  St.  Louis  on  the  Illinois. 


XXXI 

tonty's  heroic  venture 

Couture  had  added  the  fatal  sequel  to  the 
story  of  the  Abbe  and  Joutel.  Tonty  heard  it 
with  mingled  despair  and  rage.  He  thought  of 
La  Salle  lying  dead  and  unburied  among  the 
weeds  beside  a  river  hundreds  of  leagues  in  the 
wilderness;  and  he  thought  of  the  five  men  who 
had  come  to  his  fort  and  withheld  the  truth 
from  him,  the  trusted  lieutenant  of  their  master. 
So  La  Salle  was  in  good  health  when  he  parted 
from  them  on  the  other  side  of  the  Cenis  vil- 
lages !  He  remembered  now  the  strange  silence 
of  Father  Douay .  The  friar  could '  not  say  that 
La  Salle  was  well  when  he  left  him. 

But  the  anger  of  Tonty  rose  most  strongly 
against  that  priestly  brother  —  the  Abbe  who 
had  prevented  Joutel  from  taking  vengeance 
upon  the  murderers,  who  had  accepted  Tonty's 
hospitality  all  through  the  winter  while  deceiv- 
ing him,  and  who  had  run  off  with  his  secret  to 
France  after  begging  supplies  under  a  letter 
from  his  dead  brother. 

273 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE   IRON  HAND 

But  what  of  the  little  garrison  on  the  shore  of 
the  Gulf,  the  forlorn  fragment  of  the  colony 
under  Gabriel  Barbier  at  the  other  Fort  St. 
Louis?  Tonty  thought  of  Father  Membre  and 
of  the  hardships  they  had  gone  through  together. 
Was  it  too  late  to  save  them?  A  year  had  gone 
by  since  the  Abbe  and  his  party  had  reached 
the  fort  on  the  Illinois.  It  was  almost  two  years 
since  they  had  left  Barbier;  yet  the  colony  might 
still  be  alive.  The  master  was  gone  and  there 
was  no  one  left  to  save  them  but  himself. 

Perhaps  in  making  ready  to  lead  a  rescue 
party  to  the  fort  on  the  Gulf,  Tonty  forgot  some 
of  his  anger  at  the  Abbe.  Moreover,  the  Indian 
tribes  between  the  Illinois  and  the  sea  had 
given  the  Abbe  assurances  that  they  would 
rally  to  an  attack  upon  the  Spaniards  of  the 
Southwest.  Possibly  he  could  do  more  than 
save  the  colony :  it  might  be  that  he  could  fulfill 
the  long  cherished  hope  of  La  Salle  by  gathering 
a  force  of  French  and  Indians  and  invading  the 
territory  of  the  hated  Spaniards. 

Twice  Tonty  had  gone  to  the  Gulf  —  once 
with  La  Salle  and  once  in  search  of  him.  Now 
all  that  remained  for  him  to  do  was  to  rescue 
the  survivors  whom  La  Salle's  death  had  left 

274 


TONTYS   HEROIC  VENTURE 

almost  without  hope.  He  sent  Couture  back  on 
the  trail  by  which  the  Abbe  and  his  party  had 
come,  to  get  what  information  he  could;  but 
Couture's  canoe  was  wrecked  a  hundred  leagues 
from  the  fort  and  he  returned  without  news. 

Then  Tonty  bought  an  Indian  dugout  and 
taking  with  him  four  or  five  Frenchmen,  a 
Shawnee,  and  two  Indian  slaves,  was  on  his  way 
early  in  December.  On  the  17th,  a  village  of 
Illinois  Indians  at  the  mouth  of  the  river  saw 
him  go  by;  and  a  month  later,  near  the  mouth 
of  the  Arkansas,  the  Kappa  tribe  welcomed 
him  with  great  joy  and  danced  the  calumet  be- 
fore him.  He  could  not  stop  long  at  the  Arkan- 
sas towns,  but  pushed  on  down  the  river  to  the 
country  of  the  Taensas  and  the  Natchez. 

With  a  band  of  Taensas  he  left  the  Missis- 
sippi and  struck  off  toward  the  west.  After  trav- 
eling some  days  across  country  they  came  upon 
the  village  of  the  Nachitoches,  where  they  dis- 
tributed presents  and  concluded  peace  with  the 
Indians.  Taking  guides  at  this  point  they  went 
up  the  Red  River  till  they  reached  the  village 
of  the  Cadadoquis,  which  lay  upon  the  route  by 
which  the  Abbe  and  Joutel  and  their  compan- 
ions had  struggled  out  of  the  wilderness.  Here 

275 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

the  Indians  told  Tonty  that  Hiens  and  his 
party  were  farther  on  at  a  village  known  as 
Nabedache.  These  Nabedaches  were  the  same 
Indians  whom  Joutel  and  the  Abbe  called  the 
Cenis.  At  last  Tonty  was  nearing  the  object  of 
his  expedition;  a  few  more  days  and  he  would 
join  the  fragment  of  the  party  of  La  Salle  and 
push  on  to  the  Gulf. 

But  what  was  this  murmuring?  The  French- 
men flatly  refused  to  go  farther;  only  one  of 
them  would  stay  with  their  leader.  Tonty 
would  push  on  nevertheless.  With  his  one  white 
man,  the  Shawnee,  the  two  slaves,  and  five 
Cadadoquis  as  guides,  he  took  up  his  march 
again  early  in  April.  The  Frenchman  strayed 
from  the  party  and  it  was  two  long  days  before 
he  found  them  again.  Meanwhile,  in  crossing  a 
river  he  had  lost  most  of  their  powder  —  a  seri- 
ous misfortune. 

Before  the  end  of  the  month  Tonty  and  his 
party  reached  the  Nabedache  village  where  two 
years  before  the  Abbe  and  his  companions  had 
left  Hiens  and  his  crew  among  the  Indians.  The 
Indians  told  various  stories  of  the  Frenchmen 
for  whom  Tonty  was  searching.  Some  said  that 
Hiens  and  his  party  had  gone  off  with  their 

276 


TONTY'S   HEROIC  VENTURE 

chiefs  to  fight  the  Spaniards;  while  others  told 
him  that  three  had  been  killed  by  another  tribe 
and  the  rest  had  gone  away  in  search  of  arrow- 
heads. Tonty  himself  came  to  the  firm  conclu- 
sion that  the  Cenis  had  killed  the  survivors. 

He  was  now  many  leagues  beyond  the  Red 
River  and  within  a  few  days'  journey  of  the 
scene  of  La  Salle's  murder.  Eighty  leagues 
more  would  take  him  to  the  fort  on  the  Bay  of 
St.  Louis.  Tonty  begged  for  guides,  but  the 
Cenis  would  give  him  none.  Hiens  and  his  men 
were  not  to  be  found.  He  looked  at  his  remain- 
ing supply  of  gunpowder,  so  necessary  for  pro- 
viding food  as  well  as  defense.  It  was  almost 
gone.  Even  Tonty  could  go  no  farther.  With 
heavy  heart  he  gave  the  Indians  some  hatchets 
and  glass  beads  in  exchange  for  Spanish  horses 
and  turned  back  toward  the  Mississippi. 

It  was  the  ioth  of  May  when  they  reached 
the  Cadadoquis  village  on  the  Red  River,  and 
here  they  stopped  for  a  week  to  rest  their 
horses.  Then  with  an  Indian  guide  they  started 
once  more  for  the  Coroa  village.  In  all  the  ten 
years  Tonty  had  spent  in  the  wilds  he  never  had 
suffered  such  hardships  —  not  even  during  his 
bitter  experiences  in  the  winter  of  1680,  when 

277 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE   IRON  HAND 

with  Father  Membre  and  his  young  French 
companions  he  had  struggled  out  of  the  clutches 
of  the  Iroquois  in  the  valley  of  the  Illinois  and 
fought  his  way  against  cold  and  starvation  to 
the  friendly  Pottawattomie  village  on  Green 
Bay. 

While  leading  one  of  the  horses  by  the  bridle 
across  a  swamp  the  guide  imagined  himself  pur- 
sued by  an  alligator  and  tried  to  climb  a  tree. 
In  his  haste  he  entangled  the  bridle  of  Tonty's 
horse,  which  was  drowned.  Fearful  of  punish- 
ment the  guide  made  off  to  his  people,  leaving 
the  party  to  find  their  way  alone. 

With  Tonty  in  the  lead  they  crossed,  by  one 
means  or  another,  eight  or  ten  swollen  streams. 
Everywhere  the  country  seemed  drowned,  for 
the  spring  freshets  were  on.  They  gave  up  their 
horses  and  carried  their  own  baggage,  wading 
day  after  day  in  water  often  up  to  their  knees. 
They  had  to  sleep  and  light  their  fires  and  cook 
their  food  on  the  trunks  of  fallen  trees  placed 
together.  Only  once  did  they  find  anything 
like  dry  land  in  the  endless  leagues  of  flooded 
country. 

Their  food  gave  out  and  they  ate  their  dogs. 
There  was  nothing  left  and  no  wild  animals 

278 


TONTY'S   HEROIC  VENTURE 

were  to  be  found  in  all  the  wet  dreariness.  One, 
two,  three  days  passed  with  nothing  to  eat  — 
only  the  water  everywhere.  On  the  evening  of 
the  third  day,  the  14th  of  July,  they  came  at 
length  to  the  Coroa  village,  where  the  chiefs 
feasted  them  for  as  many  days  as  they  had 
fasted.  Here  they  found  two  of  the  men  who 
had  deserted ;  and  toward  the  end  of  the  month 
they  all  went  on  together  to  the  towns  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Arkansas  River.  The  months  of 
hardship  had  sapped  even  Tonty's  endurance, 
and  now  for  nearly  two  weeks  he  lay  sick  with  a 
fever  among  these  kindly  Indians. 

It  was  late  in  September,  1689,  when  Tonty 
finally  reached  the  towering  rock  at  Fort  St. 
Louis  and  climbed  to  its  friendly  summit  to 
rest.  In  the  weary  ten  months'  expedition  he 
had  neither  found  the  bones  of  his  friend,  nor 
reached  his  fort  on  the  Gulf,  nor  led  an  invading 
force  into  the  land  of  the  Spaniard.  But  he 
had  done  all  that  lay  in  his  power  to  rescue  his 
leader's  last  garrison. 

The  Abbe  had  left  his  own  brother  unburied 
in  the  wilds,  had  deliberately  for  more  than  a 
year  delayed  any  effort  to  rescue  the  survivors 
at  the  fort,  and  had  gone  off  to  France  on  funds 

279 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

obtained  by  fraud  and  deceit.  But  Tonty, 
almost  alone,  had  braved  every  peril  and  hard- 
ship for  nearly  a  year  in  a  last  courageous  but 
unsuccessful  effort  to  save  the  pitiful  remnant 
of  his  friend's  ill-fated  colony  on  the  Bay  of  St. 
Louis. 


XXXII 

THE   PITIFUL  REMNANT 

It  was  perhaps  as  well  that  Tonty  was  com- 
pelled to  turn  back,  for  he  could  have  done  little 
good  even  if  he  had  been  able  to  press  on  and 
reach  the  Bay  of  St.  Louis.  When  he  was  at  the 
Cenis  or  Nabedache  village  pleading  for  guides, 
the  Spaniards  had  already  marched  from  Mex- 
ico to  attack  the  French  fort  and  its  little  garri- 
son, and  were  encamped  on  the  hill  where  La 
Salle  had  left  Barbier  in  charge  of  the  sur- 
vivors. But  others  had  preceded  them,  and 
they  found  the  buildings  in  ruins.  Scattered 
here  and  there  were  boxes  and  bits  of  supplies; 
doors  were  unhinged,  barrels  broken  open,  and 
in  the  near-by  meadow  were  dead  bodies  of 
Frenchmen. 

On  May  I,  into  the  camp  of  the  Spaniards 
walked  two  men.  Painted  and  savage  and 
dressed  in  buffalo  hides,  these  two  strangers 
were  L'Archeveque  and  Grollet,  the  servant  of 
Duhaut,  and  Ruter's  half-savage  companion. 
They  had  come  to  give   themselves  up  to 

281 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

the  Spaniards  rather  than  endure  longer  their 
wretched  existence  among  the  Indians. 

Three  months  before,  so  they  told  the  Span- 
ish officer,  the  meager  garrison  under  Barbier, 
just  recovering  from  a  siege  of  smallpox,  was 
set  upon  by  howling  Karankawan  Indians  who 
massacred  the  inhabitants  and  pillaged  the  fort. 
Gabriel  Barbier  and  Father  Membre  both  were 
killed  outright.  Barbier's  wife  with  a  three- 
months-old  babe  at  her  breast  was  saved  for  a 
time  by  the  Indian  women;  but  the  warriors, 
returning  and  finding  her  still  alive,  murdered 
her  also,  and,  seizing  the  baby  by  the  feet,  beat 
its  brains  out  against  a  tree. 

Thus  the  colony  had  paid  for  the  offense  of 
Moranget  and  his  men  when  they  had  first 
landed  on  the  red  men's  shores  and  robbed  the 
native  camp  of  canoes  and  blankets.  After  the 
massacre,  L'Archeveque  and  Grollet  claimed 
that  they  had  come  to  the  fort  and  buried  four- 
teen of  the  dead. 

Many  years  later  there  came  to  the  ears  of 
Tonty  a  remarkable  tale  of  some  who  had  es- 
caped the  killing  at  the  fort  on  the  Bay.  Among 
those  who  had  remained  with  Barbier  was  the 
widow  Talon,  whose  husband  had  been  lost  on 

282 


THE  PITIFUL  REMNANT 

one  of  La  Salle's  first  expeditions  to  hunt  the 
river.  One  of  her  daughters  had  died  of  sickness 
at  the  fort.  Her  oldest  boy  Pierre  had  been 
taken  by  La  Salle  to  the  village  of  the  Cenis  to 
learn  their  language.  Though  she  did  not  know 
it  on  the  day  of  the  massacre,  Pierre  had  for  a 
year  and  a  half  been  running  wild  like  the  In- 
dians themselves,  in  the  Cenis  country.  A  chief 
of  the  Cenis  had  taken  him,  together  with 
young  Meusnier,  under  his  own  protection. 

But  the  widow  still  kept  four  of  the  children 
with  her  in  the  fort.  Then  came  that  awful  day 
when  the  Indians  fell  upon  them.  Before  the 
eyes  of  her  children  the  widow  was  killed.  But 
the  Indian  women  took  compassion  upon  the 
four  little  ones,  carried  them  off  on  their  backs, 
and  adopted  them  into  their  own  families.  The 
oldest  was  a  young  girl  named  Mary  Magda- 
lene Talon,  and  her  younger  brothers  were  Jean 
Baptiste,  Robert,  and  Lucien  —  one  of  whom, 
now  a  boy  of  four,  had  been  born  on  the  way 
over  from  France.  With  these  four  the  squaws 
had  rescued  a  young  boy  called  Eustache 
B  reman. 

In  the  lodges  of  Indians  the  five  children 
were  brought  up  by  their  foster  mothers  with 

283 


THE  MAN  WITH   THE  IRON   HAND 

as  much  care  as  the  dusky  children  of  the  tribe. 
For  many  years  the  girl  and  her  young  brothers 
lived  as  the  Indians  lived.  They  ate  meat  as 
their  red  brothers  did — raw,  sun-baked,  or  half- 
cooked.  The  boys  learned  to  run  and  to  ride 
and  to  draw  the  bow;  and  like  the  Indians  them- 
selves they  learned  to  run  to  the  nearest  stream 
each  morning  at  break  of  day  and  plunge  naked 
into  the  water,  whatever  the  season  might  be. 

One  day  the  Karankawas  took  sharp  thorns 
and  pricked  holes  through  the  skin  of  the  arms 
and  faces  and  other  parts  of  the  bodies  of  these 
French  children.  Then,  having  burned  in  the 
fire  a  walnut  branch,  they  crushed  the  charcoal 
into  powder,  mixed  it  with  a  little  water,  and 
forced  it  into  the  holes  in  their  fair  skin.  It  was 
very  painful  at  first,  but  the  pain  soon  passed 
away  and  then  each  adopted  child  appeared 
tattooed  with  marks  that  no  washing  could 
take  out. 

Jean  Baptiste  and  young  B reman  were  soon 
old  enough  to  be  off  with  the  braves.  Perhaps 
the  only  habit  of  life  which  they  could  not  learn 
was  the  eating  of  human  flesh.  Once  the  war- 
riors fell  upon  a  tribe  of  the  Tonkawans  and 
killed  many,  and  for  three  days  Jean  Baptiste 

284 


THE  PITIFUL  REMNANT 

went  without  food  because  his  foster  people 
gave  him  nothing  to  eat  save  the  flesh  of  the 
men  they  had  slain. 

Meanwhile  among  the  Cenis  or  Nabedaches, 
Hiens  and  his  party  had  been  having  strange 
experiences  —  fighting  in  the  savage  wars  and 
living  in  the  round  thatched  huts  of  the  In- 
dians. But  it  was  not  in  the  nature  of  things  for 
this  band  of  survivors  to  live  peaceably  among 
themselves.  Ruter,  the  half-savage  deserter 
who  had  talked  one  night  with  Joutel  by  the 
Cenis  lodge-fire,  quarreled  with  Hiens  (so  came 
the  tale  to  Tonty)  and  killed  the  old  buccaneer. 
As  for  Ruter,  never  more  was  he  heard  from. 
His  companion,  Grollet,  and  the  miserable 
L'Archeveque,  tiring  of  their  life  among  the 
Indians,  had  already  given  themselves  up  to 
the  Spaniards. 

There  remained,  under  the  protection  of  the 
Cenis  chief,  Pierre  Talon  and  his  comradeMeus- 
nier.  One  day  an  Indian  friend  came  to  them 
with  warning  on  his  lips:  the  Spaniards,  cruel 
enemies  of  their  countrymen,  were  marching 
into  the  Indian  country  looking  for  these  ref- 
ugee white  men.  In  fear  they  fled  from  town 
to  town;  but  their  flight  was  in  vain,  for  it 

285 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON   HAND 

was  not  long  before  they  had  fallen  into  the 
hands  of  the  Spanish  horsemen.  Their  captors 
marched  them  back  to  the  village  of  the  Cenis, 
hoping  to  find  more  whites  there.  They  were 
disappointed,  but  during  their  brief  stop  they 
became  so  impressed  with  the  Indians  that  they 
left  three  Spanish  Franciscan  friars  and  built 
them  a  chapel  in  the  village.  Two  of  the  Span- 
ish officers  spoke  the  French  language  as  well  as 
their  own;  Talon  and  Meusnier  had  become 
familiar  with  the  tongue  of  the  Cenis;  and  so  by 
means  of  a  four-sided  conversation  the  friars 
learned  from  the  Indians  a  few  words  of  their 
language  before  their  men  took  the  captives 
away  to  the  southwest. 

Pierre  was  greatly  astonished  at  all  this. 
These  men  seemed  to  be  Christians  even  if  they 
were  Spanish,  and  instead  of  cruelty  they  had 
bestowed  upon  him  only  kindness.  If  the  Span- 
iards were  like  this,  he  would  have  them  cap- 
ture also  his  sister  and  younger  brothers.  And 
so  he  told  the  Spaniards  that  he  had  three  bro- 
thers and  a  sister  living  with  the  Karankawas, 
down  near  the  Bay  of  St.  Louis. 

On  the  way  back  to  Mexico  the  Spanish 
troops  with  swords  and  guns  and  horses  rode 

286 


THE  PITIFUL  REMNANT 

into  the  village  where  the  Talon  children  were. 
Jean  Baptiste  Talon  and  Eustache  Breman 
they  did  not  find;  but  Mary  Magdalene  and 
Robert  and  Lucien  were  there.  The  officers 
agreed  to  give  the  Indians  who  had  fostered 
them  a  horse  for  each  child.  But  when  they 
came  to  the  girl  Mary,  who  was  older  and 
larger,  the  Indians  protested;  for  they  thought 
that  they  ought  to  get  two  horses  for  her.  The 
dispute  grew  hot  and  both  sides  sprang  to  arms. 
The  Spanish  guns  spoke,  two  or  three  Indians 
fell  dead  and  the  others  fled  terrified.  The  sub- 
dued Indians  finally  gave  up  the  girl  for  one 
horse,  and  the  Spaniards  rode  out  of  the  village, 
after  giving  the  Indians  some  tobacco  to  ease 
the  hearts  of  those  whose  dead  lay  upon  the 
ground. 

The  foster  mothers  mourned  over  their  lost 
children,  especially  the  younger  ones,  for  in  the 
years  of  their  stay  with  the  tribe  they  had 
found  warm  places  in  Indian  hearts.  Jean  Bap- 
tiste and  young  Breman  remained  for  another 
year  with  their  Indian  people.  Then  there  came 
another  Spanish  troop  and  carried  them  off. 
Again  the  Indians  wept  and  urged  young  Talon 
to  escape  as  soon  as  possible  and  come  back  to 

287 


THE  MAN  WITH  THE  IRON  HAND 

them  and  bring  with  him  as  many  Spanish 
horses  as  he  could.  He  promised,  but  they 
never  saw  him  again.  Thus  the  Talons  came  to 
Mexico. 

Pierre  and  Jean  Talon,  after  many  years  with 
the  Spaniards,  came  at  last  to  their  own  coun- 
try of  France.  Long  before  them  the  Abbe, 
Joutel,  and  their  three  companions  had  also 
come  home  to  the  land  of  the  lilies. 

In  the  wild  reaches  of  the  Great  Valley  there 
remained  little  trace  of  the  last  expedition  of 
La  Salle  to  found  a  colony  at  the  foot  of  what 
Joutel  had  come  to  call  the  fatal  river.  Up  and 
down  the  broad  highway  that  ran  through  the 
valley  from  north  to  south,  red  men  pushed 
their  wooden  dugouts  or  bark  canoes.  With 
moccasined  feet  they  trailed  the  deer  through 
the  woods  and  followed  the  track  of  the  shaggy 
beasts  of  the  plains.  And  at  break  of  day  beside 
the  enemy's  camp  they  sent  up  the  cry  of  war 
quite  as  they  and  their  fathers  had  done  for 
many  hundred  years.  From  one  end  of  the  val- 
ley to  the  other  the  white  men  had  traveled ;  and 
yet,  as  the  track  of  a  canoe  dies  out  of  the 
water  or  the  shadow  of  a  flying  bird  passes  over 
the  plain  and  is  gone,  so  now  it  seemed  that  the 

288 


THE  PITIFUL  REMNANT 

trail  of  the  white  men's  passing  had  vanished 
out  of  the  valley  and  that  the  dream  that  had 
led  to  their  coming  had  been  lost  with  the 
dreamer  beneath  the  waving  grass  of  the 
Southern  plains. 

Yet  down  by  the  Gulf  a  Quinipissa  chief 
guarded  year  by  year  a  precious  letter,  waiting, 
and  not  in  vain,  to  give  it  to  a  white  man  who 
should  come  into  the  mouth  of  the  river  from 
the  sea.  And,  far  in  the  north,  on  a  high  rock 
beside  the  river  Illinois,  the  Man  with  the  Iron 
Hand,  known  and  loved  and  feared  by  all  the 
tribes,  kept  alive  year  after  year  the  vision  of 
his  chief.  His  days  were  to  be  long  in  the  valley 
he  loved  and  his  services  many  to  his  king  and 
his  Indian  friends ;  and  the  time  was  yet  to  come 
when  he  would  see  the  flag  of  France  waving 
over  a  colony  of  Frenchmen  at  the  mouth  of 
the  river  which  had  run  like  a  silver  thread 
through  a  quarter  of  a  century  of  dreams  and 
deeds. 


THE   END 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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REC'D  LD 
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RECTO  UP 


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RFC'D  LD 

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NOV  11 1966 


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